


We Could Be Heroes

by TJLaurentide



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Criminal Minds
Genre: AI Penelope Garcia, Anderson is not just a pretty face, Assassin Anderson, Borderlands 2 AU, Character Death, F/F, F/M, FairyGodmotherRossi, Gina Sharp doesn't get enough love, In which the BAU team are Vault Hunters, JJ is a pyromaniac, Kicking down doors is Derek's job in any universe, Lawbringer JJ, M/M, Mechromancer Spencer, Minor Character Death, Out of Character JJ, Silly, Siren Emily, Sorry Gina
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2018-10-18 08:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10612644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TJLaurentide/pseuds/TJLaurentide
Summary: Pandora is a violent and mostly lawless planet home to desolate towns devoid of optimism.  Mined and overrun by bandit camps and greedy corporations, the civilian towns in Pandora could really use a hero to help them with their bandit issues.  Handsome Jack of the Hyperion corporation thinks he's the hero this planet needs.The five Vault Hunters he hires (and subsequently betrays) have other opinions of this psychotic menace.  Will they band together to stop Handsome Jack from opening the vault? Or will a worse monster than they could imagine destroy Pandora as they know it?This AU is based on the Borderlands 2 game with pieces of the Pre-Sequel thrown in.





	1. A Pair of Sirens

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy.  
> JJ has an out-of-character personality. I wanted her to let out the inner badass.  
> Siren wings can be retracted. They are not like fixed angel wings, they pop out per the wishes of the Siren.

1 New Message   
From: P3N310P3@hyperion.com  
Re: Handsome Jack Here!  
Come to Pandora! Handsome Jack needs you! Vault Hunters wanted! You have 1 ticket waiting on the Expressway to meet with Handsome Jack himself. Full-time employment, full compensation package, many months of work for a qualified Vault Hunter! Details to follow!

***1***

The first had been the lawbringer. She was a petite blonde with a passion for foul language, Jakobs sniper rifles, and Fireball grenades. Dressed in weathered tan cowboy boots, a denim coat speckled with bullet holes and scorch marks, a Six Shooter class mod at her hips, there was very little that was not stereotypically Lynchwood about her.

She was ruthless. A huntress, a murderer, she slaughtered dozens of bandits who made her town more lawless than it should be. An odd but truthful statement. It was Pandora, and it was a filthy wasteland full of desperate people, so a few crazy marauders would happen now and then, they just would. It was the bizarre normalcy Pandora's citizens lived with. But violent clan wars and months of raids and hostage taking? Not on Jennifer Jareau's watch, not in her town.  
Jennifer was too frilly a name for her liking, and so she had been Jenna or JJ for the last seventeen years, a woman wielding a pistol as easily as a sniper rifle, who smelled like gunsmoke and Parliaments and strong peppermints in a worn red tin. She was cold and dispassionate, and Handsome Jack liked that. She had a code to how she killed, and if you squinted and looked just right you could almost say it was because she cared about the people in her town. But no one had the time or the strength of belief to imagine that was true, so Jenna Jareau went on to be known as a bandit-killing bandit. A badass. A Vault Hunter.

There was a secret that only her deputy and husband Will LaMontagne knew. He had seen the tattoo on her arm, and while she pointedly never used her Siren powers in front of anyone, he knew what it meant. He had bought her a beautiful red Heartbreaker shotgun from Hyperion to commemorate the occasion of the email she received from a quirky AI named P3N310P3. The gun was a specialty item of medium rarity. A glossy candy-apple red, it shot incendiary rounds in a heart-shaped pattern and could heal her if she was taking damage from bandits. It was exceedingly rare that JJ dealt with a shotgun-necessary situation, but this would certainly be her best friend if that was the case. "It's gunna be a tough ride out there, Jenna-fuh', I can't be losin' yuh." He was the only one she allowed to call him that, and when he said her full given name she knew he was serious. They had made passionate love that night, and as he called her name she had unfurled her Siren wings- enormous, a pure shade of gold so bright and pure they bordered on white. Will's lust-blown eyes had stared in wonder and he'd uttered a soft "my angel of peace" under his breath as she stretched the mighty wingspan out. They had barely fit in the room, their tips curved up and around the two lovers forming almost a second ceiling of thick feathers. Leaning forward, drawing him into her arms as he began to slip into a deep slumber, she had wrapped the wings up and around them both to strengthen their embrace. "Yes," she whispered softly, "your angel. Only yours."

When she got the letter inviting her to come on the train to meet with Handsome Jack and take part in a brilliant plan for riches and glory, she didn't think twice before confirming. She hugged Will and kissed her son Henry goodbye. If she played her cards just right, she'd score them enough to live happily for many years. She thoughtfully touched the gold dove pendant that hung on a thin chain around her neck, hummed a tune softly and went out the door.

***2***

The second had been the Siren. The Highlands were a beautiful, lush green hillside in Pandora, but for the life of her Emily Prentiss could not imagine why she was still here. Her boyfriend Ian had been killed by the Hodunk Clan four years ago, and while she had been biding her time as a well-liked but introverted member of the Zafford Clan by association, she was ready for a new beginning. A new life. A new... adventure.

Her life was cloaked in black, white, and green. She dressed professionally compared to the other women in town, all business in black trousers, Chelsea boots, a blazer and a white blouse. Her skin seemed far paler than it really was thanks to her monochrome pallet but it helped her blend with the Irish.

Ian had run alcohol out of the distillery to buyers across Pandora, but had a side job selling rare Bandit weapons on the black market. Emma had helped, secretly working for Vladof as a spy, until her contract was up and Vladof chose not to renew it. Emma had not lost any sleep; a contract was a contract and she was certain a new one would pop up eventually. After a few years of occasional side jobs, the big one came.

Hyperion had apparently taken notice of her wilder years with Ian. She was a Siren, and while she kept the neon cyan tattoo that traced her left arm a secret, she was sure that Ian's associates and the Zafford Clan were very aware that there was more to her strong elemental damage skills than the Maliwan SMGs she used. Normal elemental weapons lovers couldn't conjure acid clouds over enemies. Or heal their friends by stabbing their attackers. Or throw balls of slag like a seasoned major league pitcher. Or sprout fucking wings from their backs. Ah well.

Emma's wings were a glossy jet black, the same shade as her straight, long tresses. They were reasonably proportioned to her body and had made Ian love her more, if that was even possible. He had always been fond of crows- how the murder of crows would fly together, and sometimes she had lifted off the ground to fly with them when she & Ian were on rare dates. The crows saw her as one of them, and she could summon them to her side with just a thought or a whistle. Handsome Jack had positively cackled with delight when he saw her use the swarms of her feathered friends to dispose of corpses- a warning to those who crossed Ian Doyle, or Zafford Clan. 

The Zaffords, even after Ian had died, had never turned her away. They didn't see her as a god or a deity thankfully, but sometimes muttered that she was a lucky demon - a creature summoned from the bowels of Hell to protect them with dark magic. Because of her allegiance to them they never feared her, and for that she had been thankful. Still, when the invite came to the Holy Spirits Bar courtesy of an AI using a shockingly glittery-green font, Emma had confirmed her interest.

It hadn't taken long to pack what few belongings she kept. There was a book of fairy tales, whiskey, a wooden star puzzle, dozens of Vladof Firebee and Corrosive Cloud grenades, a Nurse class mod, and her Florentine SMG. A Stalker shotgun was slung over her back, extra crowd control if her elemental Siren skills failed her. She was ready to spread her great black wings and soar somewhere new, somewhere Ian Doyle's beautiful aingeal dorcha could start over.


	2. Klaatu Barada Nikto!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> P3N310P3 gets asked to find a genius for the team Handsome Jack is assembling. She doesn't disappoint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:  
> Thank you for the kudos. I haven't written fiction in ten years. It feels nice. I hope you will continue to enjoy my twist on the storyline of BL2.  
> I hope to update this fic once a week. My work schedule has hit busy season so I don't want to set an expectation that I can't meet. I'm really excited to play with P3N310P3 and Spencer's friendship.

The third had been the mechromancer. A 27 year-old with unbelievable brainpower, Handsome Jack had wondered why the hell Hyperion had never hired (or killed) the kid before now. It turned out it was due to some stupid child labor laws that he was pretty sure as king of the new Pandora he was building he'd eliminate immediately, but eh, in time. Everything in time.

On paper, Doctor Reid came off as an asset. Brilliant with his hands and his mind. Attractive, gifted, scientific. In person, Jack had blurted out a resounding "no freaking way" when P3N310P3 showed him the file with his physical stats.

"Sir, you said you wanted the best mind you could find, and this kid, he's pretty darn good, like crazy good, like could almost program a mini me of me in another six years good. Lot of potential. Lot of heart. Lot of PhD's. Three of them, to be exact. Two bachelors, too. He must collect them, like some kids save coins or stamps or OH MY GOD LIKE THOSE RARE AND SHINY--"

"That's enough, Penelope. So this kid, he's what, socially hopeless but brilliant otherwise? What's his weapon preference? SMGs? Shotguns? ARs? Pistols? Snipers? Beating people to death with a freaking calculator?"

"Well, actually sir, it shows he has next to no proficiency in weapons."

"You're telling me Einstein here can't hit the broad side of your mom? How is that even... you'd think he'd have made his OWN weapons by now. Like some sort of nuclear laser bomb the size of a skagtooth or something. What the hell."

"Well, sir, he DID build a robot that has lasers for eyes, claw-hands, incredible health and attack stats, AND can deal insane amounts of shock damage in seconds. Also, it plays classical music. Also, fifteen years ago it made a 12 year-old girl explode at a science fair."

"...go on."

***3***

Promethea was littered in wreckage, broken shards of metal and debris from years of turmoil and wars. The people of Promethea & other planets had used these materials to rebuild their own towns and small cities, small beacons of civilization on a planet that had aggressive fauna and some treacherous landscapes. The Reid household had sat in Chimney Scourge, a small cozy town that would almost be beautiful if it wasn't a desert of red rocks and cacti. Spencer had learned at a young age how to make the pieces of debris into useful objects. At age 4, he was reading technical manuals and mostly understanding how things worked. By age 7, he was tinkering with the motor of his father's scrapped technical. By 10, he had started building a robot that he could digistruct. The first few models had been good but not great- they had laser eyes and eventually claws, but the legs dragged and the remote controls had always felt like they were too big but never big enough. He decided that before he graduated high school, he would perfect the robot to be the perfect anti-bullying machine in the world. Setting up shop in the garage, he would works nights on end, tinkering and modifying his project, removing the legs altogether, calculating the dimensions and the output just so. The worse the taunting at school became, the more he swore he wouldn't fail.

Through it all, his parents had been supportive. His mother had encouraged his curiosity and his increasingly insatiable urge to read EVERYTHING he could get his hands on. A former professor, she would read to him, even when she knew he was reading the words on the pages long before she got to them. He loved the sound of her voice and the time they spent, so he never let on, and she never commented. His father was an attorney, usually representing Tediore on their newest SMG models, but had done work for Vladof and Torgue as well. When he realized how truly gifted Spencer was, he had given him his first Pine Fresh Power Shot, a small green-tinted corrosive pistol. hey had gone out shooting, and he had carefully shown Spencer the joys (and dangers) of Tediore weapons: "Shoot fast, throw the gun AWAY from you when it's empty, watch it explode like a grenade, and then digistruct fully loaded back into your hand. Never throw it in a confined space. The more ammo in the gun when you throw it, the more damage it'll do to your enemy." The target practice had ended when Spencer almost blew himself up more times than his father cared to have to explain to his mother, and when William Reid came to the sobering conclusion that Spencer could not, in fact, shoot a gun worth a damn.

Spencer's big break in the DT unit he was building had been his senior year of high school when he was 12. Distracted by a formula in his head, he sliced his upper arm halfway open to the bone. As the blood spurted and he heard his mother "losing her collective shit" as his father so pleasantly yelled to him from the background, an epiphany struck him harder than the saw had. He had walked into school the next day with a robotic arm, to the awe of his classmates and horror of most of his teachers (although there had been a high-five from Mr. Stevens, the proud shop instructor). Spencer had gleefully showed the astounded professor after-hours how digistructing the robot and controlling it with his own arm was the smartest idea and WHY OH WHY DID IT TAKE SO LONG TO FIGURE OUT? When he had come home that night to finish his final modifications of the DT unit, his mother had left him a bowl of hot chocolate and toasted macaroons, as well as her forest green & gold hardcover teaching edition of Tristan & Isolde.

She had been getting worse. The doctors had misdiagnosed it as a case of the skull shivers, and for two years she had been improperly medicated. It had damaged her mind, and Spencer had silently witnessed his mother, his favorite parent, fall apart into a shell of what she used to be. She was in some ways a living ghost, in others the mother he had always known- like when she made cookies and cocoa. It comforted him a little knowing the memory of them curled up in bed reading her favorite book while getting silly on the rich chocolate and coconut delights had stuck with her somehow. The memories of the daily occurrences of reminding her to eat and to get out of the tub after washing quickly cleared the pleasantness soon after.

He knew his father would leave her. The man was trying, but he wasn't invulnerable. He felt the loss and depression of watching the love of his life fading. Spencer couldn't help but be more than a little bitter, but he loved them both- even if his father was becoming more and more absent physically and his mother mentally.

The night of the science fair, all hell broke loose. The robot, DT, had caused the first place winner (a wealthy brat whose father SWAM in old Dahl money) to explode- guts and blood everywhere, spattered across the students who had taunted him and made his life a hell the last few years. It was her own fault- she had stolen and modified Spencer's original designs for DT, only hers had overheated and malfunctioned because being a precocious little snit didn't help lack of brains. Still she had won, the judges bought, and she had the NERVE to shove Spencer and taunt him in front of the whole school.

"You're so stupid- all those brains and you can't even beat a GIRL. You suck, and your robot is stupid, just like you! You shouldn't even be alive, you're such a FREAK. Your dad got an offer from one of the weapons manufacturers and you're going to be stuck at home, forever, taking care of your useless, stupid mother, who can't even--"

Spencer had stopped thinking, seeing, breathing. He was numb and cold, and his vision blurred with humiliation and rage. Pure, heartstopping rage. He was shaking, and tears rolled down his cheeks as he struggled to keep himself from dropping to the floor. His ears were clogged with the cloying sounds of the other students’ laughter. He didn't even hear the robot's laser eyes light up, or remember to put the training claws back on. The next thing he knew, a warm splash of coppery liquid struck him and everyone around them. There was screaming, and when Spencer's eyes opened he saw a very familiar technical on fire, rolling in neutral downhill towards the parking lot. Spencer turned and fled, the over-protective robot soaring behind him, CARRYING HIM in its tremendous arms.

He had taken a turbo-shuttle off of Promethea to Elpis, Pandora's moon. He had holed up, working odd jobs to help the locals in Concordia and some Sir Rossi dude from Pandora who paid VERY well despite Spencer never seeing his face. He knew Sir Rossi was an esteemed author and the samples he sent him of flora and fauna from Elpis helped publish Rossi’s books. The payments Spencer received for his legwork had financed the three PhD's and his mother's relocation to a safer planet than Promethea. He wrote to her daily from the small home he had modified off Crisis Scar, an area known for its old communications warehouses and facilities. Crisis Scar was generally avoided unless one enjoyed being surrounded by mechanical scraps and old technology, but to Spencer it was a haven. He lived modestly, continuing to improve DT - Death Trap - and do anonymous work for the right employer.

When the message had come to him from P3N310P3 Spencer had spent almost 4 hours pestering the AI, trying to learn the ins & outs of her. She gave him nothing, except an invite to board a train on Pandora to meet Handsome Jack and savor the sweet taste of loot. Spencer had thought about becoming a Vault Hunter for years; he was a loner anyway, so it couldn't be that hard. Plus, the money would be much better. He packed the little pistol his father had given him, a few other small belongings, put the copy of Tristan & Isolde wrapped in protective material, and torched his small haven. He'd be damned if anyone would get rich off his research while he was gone.

More than any of the others on the list, P3N310P3 longed to meet Dr. Spencer Reid in person.


	3. Interlude 1 - Dave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave's research trip didn't go as planned. Too bad he's up an icy creek without any scotch.

***4***  
He only turned the power on in case of emergencies. This was an emergency. He'd been through every hiding place, storage bin, empty ammo chests, the gun safe, the second gun safe, the wine cellar that doubled as a panic room/gun storage unit, and nothing, not one single damn bottle of Glenfiddich to be found.

This was a goddamn catastrophe.

When he'd landed in in Liar's Berg on the frozen tundra of Pandora, he had been at least allowed his scotch because some of these bastards weren't entirely heartless (or unwilling to accept his money to turn a blind eye). But there was no way he'd have gone through it all by now. No, not possible, no way. He, the great Sir David Rossi, wealthy son and heir of the Rossi family fortune, would not have underestimated his scotch regiment.

Ah well. There was always the wine.

The marauders and fucking bandits had no goddamned taste in wine or GOOD alcohol in general. Nor did they have the desire to become acquainted with good taste. Nor would Dave had let them within 3 feet of his cellar without the fuckers taking a few good rounds to the chest. Bullets and bandits were easy to come by in Pandora. A good drink was not.

***

Dave had come to the Berg in the hopes of studying the native fauna for his latest almanac, specifically the bullymongs. Huge, hideous white ape-creatures with tusk-like canine teeth and shaggy fur, they lived in small ice dens on top of each other. He had wanted to explore their diet, refuse, hunting patterns and behavior over the course of a few weeks. Instead, he had narrowly escaped death from Captain Flynt and his crew. The great flaming bastard he was had killed or enslaved most of the asshats in the area, but thanks to the high number of bullymongs ravaging the Berg, Dave had “lucked out” as they'd put it. Dave had, of course, picked THIS specific place on the Berg by no accident. Dave Rossi was a lot of things,with a high number of vulgar adjectives thrown in depending on who exactly someone spoke to, but lucky was not one of them. 

The work had been continuous- he had remained involved in his studies and research while outsourcing jobs to lesser people who could enable his research on other planets. A few people on Promethea, a couple on Hermes (his home planet), and even a child prodigy on Elpis. The kid had made him feel a sort of... you could almost call it empathy, he wasn't sure what to call it but it wasn't that, certainly not. Dave knew that the funds he sent the kid for his due diligence (which was always punctual and beautifully detailed) had helped put the doctor title on Doctor Spencer Reid's name, and he was glad to read the carefully hand-written letters that came weekly. He didn't usually write back, because fuck if he had time for that while in isolation on an ice hellhole, but once every couple months he would send a few short lines letting the kid know publishing updates and would send him a copy of the latest book with an autograph. He'd been using the kid's help the last five years, but it wasn't until he had been trapped in Liar's Berg that he'd truly appreciated the hero-worship letters about stupid bullshit like constellations and gearboxes and classic literature. He hoped, for both their sakes, they'd eventually make it to Sanctuary.

Sanctuary was where a few members of the Crimson Raiders had put up a defensive stronghold; it was a safe haven and mostly-nonviolent city full of folks taking a stand against Handsome Jack's fascist bullshit. It was a nice city, and one he planned to return to if he could get some fucking help sometime this year to get past goddamn Captain Fancy Pants and the Shit-Hearted Bandit Band. Heh. He should get that one trademarked. Maybe it would go in his next book…

He stoked the fireplace and continued to silently convince himself he wouldn't die here alone and sober.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be careful what you wish for, Dave.


	4. Atlas Whumped.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Handsome Jack has found the glue he wants to hold his Vault Hunter team together with. 
> 
> Turns out that glue may not be for sale.

***5***

Fifth had been the gladiator. Morality wasn't a high number on Jack's list of top must-have qualities in a Vault Hunter, but he did want someone who would follow through with a mission no matter what. Someone who wouldn't half-ass it or change their mind. The kid and the women were possible flight risks in his mind. A warrior with some actual freaking leadership skills? That would be very, very useful.

"Penelope, find me a soldier who follows orders no matter what. Someone lethal but dedicated to the mission. Someone with a bounty on their head."

"Yes, sir. If you don't mind me asking, sir, why do you care about the bounty? Won't that make them more of a target and risk the success of their mission?"

"Patience, pumpkin. Patience." She hated that he called her that. If an AI could cringe, she would.

"Yes, sir. Okay, here. I found this poster circling on some old Dahl frigates."

"Bring it up, let's see our boy."

AARON HOTCHNER  
REWARD: $55,000,000,000.00  
WANTED BY: ATLAS CORPORATION  
WANTED FOR: MURDER OF GENERAL KNOXX AND ENTIRE B DIVISION OF ATLAS  
IF FOUND, PLEASE CALL XXX-XXX-XXXX

"Is he really that dangerous, Penelope? I mean really, Atlas can hardly be called dangerous unless you run into one of their assassins."

"Sir, Aaron Hotchner IS one of their assassins. Was one of their assassins, rather? His main weapons are a digistructing katana and the Aspis, a large shield that absorbs damage and deals it back.”

“A freaking shield? Who the heck does this freaking lunatic think he is, Captain Pandora?”

“It's one of the standard weapons Atlas soldiers can pick. There's some promotional videos of him with it and he looks all badass and… Oh… OH MY… oh dear those, that wasn’t, oh those were REAL Dahl soldiers...oh. Well. Uhmm… yes, well then. It looks like after a large mission ended, he left Atlas and began eliminating those aware of the mission's details. The true details anyway." 

"Good, so he followed through until the bitter end and then took a few weeks to start slaughtering?"

"Not exactly. His mission was to kill a low-level employee at Tediore. The employee was a also a part-time bartender at a local establishment on Pandora. The mission dossier stated that the employee was tipping a local bandit gang on when the Tediore shipments were expected to land in the Dust near the Highlands so that they could jump the delivery trucks and rob them. Aaron killed him with a digistructed katana one night as he was going to his technical. Because it was dark and the target wore disguises, Aaron didn't see his real face. The man he assassinated was his estranged younger brother, Sean. Aaron was devastated and furious, so he went to see General Knoxx to find out why he wasn't told the anonymous target was his brother. The orders came above Knoxx. Apparently it was a test… Sean Hotchner was innocent, and Aaron passed. The Vice President of Atlas offered Aaron a position on an elite division. He asked for a weekend to think it over. Three days later, on a Monday morning, everyone involved in or in the know about the mission, including the men & women of the division he had been asked to join, were found dead. They were all sliced by the katana; Aaron killed them all."

"Penelope?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Get. Him."

***  
From: P3N310P3@hyperion.com  
To: hotchner@atlas.com  
Re: contractual work $$$$ CHALLENGING  
***

“Sir? My message is reading back as deleted. He didn't even open it.” He ground his teeth and rounded on her terminal, eyes flashing with madness.

“Now we use that bounty to our advantage. Call this number, and you read that script verbatim. NOW.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter and the journey begins :)


	5. Soldier On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek Morgan decides to accept a challenge.

***6***  
If Derek Morgan wrote a book, he’d call it “War Crimes Don’t Pay, Bounty Hunting Does.” It would be semi-autobiographical in that he was in fact making a shit-ton more money than the military ever paid him, but he’d leave out his ex. She had enough on her plate, and he didn't need to be a concern of hers after all she’d done for him.

She had been the best commanding officer he could ask for, in battle and in bed. He loved her how he loved all women- go in fast, climb the mountain, leave with a sad smile. He’d never admit it, but there was a part of him that did love every woman he’d ever been with. She had been with him the longest though, all ten years of his service to Dahl.

Good ol’ Dahl. He still carried his favorite grenadier gun and a bladed Scorpion AK. He mostly walked into battle with his turret, a small portable digistructing turret that would pop out and chew up the damn bandits that made his life dangerous and his wallet full. The turret could grip walls and ceilings to give him cover while the grenades herded the marauders into his clutches. Most bounties he collected were on the dead, but occasionally it was worth it to drop off a live one. 

Derek didn’t mind being the transporter. He didn’t ask why people were being hunted (although the wanted posters usually enlightened him.) Hell, HE was on a wanted poster somewhere, he was sure, for all the war crimes he’d committed. There hadn’t been a lot of them, but enough that his commanding officer/now-ex-fiancé’ had finally been unable to turn a blind eye. 

“Sergeant Morgan, you’ve been found guilty of assorted war crimes against the citizens of Elpis. The punishment for this crime is death by firing squad. You will report to the facility at Triton Flats at 1400 hours tomorrow. I encourage you to not take refuge at the planets of Pandora, Promethea, Hieronymous, Hermes, or Lacuna where Dahl will be unable to track your movements or follow you. Do you understand, Sergeant?”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” 

He missed her sometimes; he wondered how she was making out on whatever planet she was stationed at now, if she was even still in the service. He missed her courage and her softness, her patience that he had tested too much and too often, and her brains. He swore that if he ever loved, REALLY LOVED, another woman he would keep close to him like armor.  
He had no idea how accurately that wish would come true.

***  
P3N310P3@hyperion.com  
Re: Vault Hunting Opportunity  
Wanna score big? Handsome Jack is looking for skilled commandos adept in dispatching bandits in high numbers. LOTS OF $$$$, LOTS OF GLORY. Click Here to sign up as a Vault Hunter today!  
XoXo Penelope :-*

Derek stared at the email for a while and began to chuckle.

ScorpioDM@pandorito.com  
Re: Vault Hunting Opportunity  
Hey Penelope,  
I’m in. Derek Morgan, ex-Dahl commando.  
How soon can I start?  
Hope to hear from you soon, Baby Girl. ;)

P3N310P3@hyperion.com  
Hey there D-Rock,  
Attached is the official invitation. You’ll be meeting at the location below to board the train to Hyperion. You’ll be part of a five-man team consisting of Jennifer Jareau, Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid, and your team leader Aaron Hotchner. We have reached out to two other individuals who have not committed as of yet; notice will be sent via email if they choose to join.  
Tootles & Tamales,  
Penelope XoXoXo

And so, the fourth was the commando.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really difficult for me to write. I like Derek, but I had a hard time writing him. I just wasn't satisfied with it. The next four chapters are mostly done, just need some polishing.
> 
> Oh look, Hotch accepted the invite. Wonder what changed his mind.


	6. Two Shields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron Hotchner once had two shields. Now he just has one.
> 
> Or, how things went from bad to worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to be combined with the previous one. There's some time skipping here, but basically Haley takes a call from P3N310P3 and then calls Aaron later, after he has made his choice.
> 
> Aaron is leaving Haley in the dark about his final assignment and the aftermath because he's struggling to cope with what he's done. Now he has to struggle with what Atlas has cost him- everything.

Hello?  
Why yes, this is Haley Hotchner.  
…  
…  
What do you mean by that?  
…  
What do you mean, make the bounty go away? Are you going to kill my husband?  
…  
I see. And what if he refuses?  
…  
...I understand. Thank you for calling.”

***7***

The last one had been the commando. 6’, 220 lbs, rock solid abs and incredible endurance. Rich milk chocolate skin with perfectly groomed facial hair and eyebrows, Derek Morgan turned heads with more than his warm smile. It wasn't lost on Handsome Jack that P3N310P3 had pulled some bare-chested semi-phonographic photos of the dark Dahl soldier and left them tucked in a folder within his file.

“Well if Aaron Hotchner fails to accept my gracious offer, I say we appoint this guy to be my team's backbone. The women will love him and maybe that kid will, too. Who cares. Anyway, did he accept the invitation?”

***7***

Her long blond hair was in a side-parted fishtail braid swept over her right shoulder. Her blue eyes were clear and bright as aquamarine gemstones in sunshine. A tattered red pirate hat was perched on her head; a sword in her hand raised menacingly… except… not.  
In fact, if Aaron didn't know any better, he’d say this woman was flirting with him.

“Ma'am, on behalf of the Atlas Corporation, I'm here to ask that you cease this illegal theft of our weapons.” The patented Hotch glare bounced off her.

“And cash. I want your cash, too. All the loot, bag it & throw it into my sandskiff. Now!” She grinned deviously at him, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. He sighed and shifted, raising his shield in an offensive manner. Her eyes darkened and she leaned forwards, the torn white blouse and red-boned corset leaving just enough visible to tease, the tops of two soft breasts catching his eyes despite himself. A blush faintly crossed his face as he shifted again. Something… something was off here. Something was _very_ off. Despite the light blossoming of warm pink on his cheeks, Hotch held his unblinking gaze and kept his lips in a firm, neutral line. As she leapt forward with her blade swishing, he pulled back the shield and threw it. She dropped to the ground, rolled left, spun, and did an artful dash right, the shield making a loud ZING! as it flew back to Hotch’s arm.

They danced back and forth, trading blows in what quickly became not a lethal battle, but a puzzle to Hotch. She bounced effortlessly out of his reach, forcing him to twist and whirl to attempt any offensive blow. With each move, twist, lunge, she laughed out loud and her smile became something oddly beautiful. He couldn't kill her. As much as Hotch countered and swung, he realized he was becoming breathless with pleasure as well. She was quite a fun adversary, he had to admit. The first to respond like this in a fight for sure. As he threw the shield again and she twisted just out of his trajectory, he caught her eyes. They were filled with greed, and it wasn't that she was analyzing his movements or cataloging his defensive patterns of combat. It was lust. Her mouth was in a lopsided grin, teeth bared, a huntress. 

She wasn't fighting him, not really. She was courting him. She was… she was ogling him! Her eyes roved over his toned frame like a predator, a lioness savoring the derailed look of the gazelle it had stalked and chosen to be its prey. He watched as they lifted from his body to meet his own dark chocolate orbs, and they remained fixed as the heat, the knowledge that she knew he knew what she was doing went straight to his groin. His foot became unsure as he moved backwards carefully, and his mouth parted in uncertainty and realization that she was undeterred.

_My word, this is a game to her… She's having fun... She's… she wants me...._

She got him. By God, she got him. After their exchange of blows wore down and their arousal grew heavier, both of them had finally thrown their weapons down in tandem, lost and found themselves together on her sandskiff, the ship rocking lightly with their raw pleasure. He had taken her for wild, but she was calm with him after the passion had worn them down. He savored her. She was his first, and he was careful to exhibit the gentleman’s manners he had been brought up with, inviting her to stay with him, to live with him, to hunt bandits together despite her own history. While he had to return to Atlas, his loyalty to her remained in equal portion. After his jobs, he would return to her, tired and sometimes broken from the toll his murderous skill set took on him. She would hold him safely in her arms, and so Aaron Hotchner began to surround himself with two shields: the Aspis and Haley. They married in private not long after. 

***

One night, laying out on some blankets behind his small farmhouse, he had whispered in her ears. “I promise to hold you close and keep you by my side, my friend, my dear, just like my shield.” Her smile had changed when he said that, and he had told himself afterwards the change had been startlement at the simile he’d used. He realized what it was later when it became more obvious.

It was contempt. Not for him, but for the Aspis. It was the symbol of his job. Atlas was constantly taking him from her for long nights. The agreement was that he would work while she stayed home when they found out a third Hotchner was in the works. The finality of it hit her. No more pirating and looting. No more high stakes adventures. They would be parents, and someone needed to make sure their child would not grow up an orphan. She would be a stay at home mother, and she wanted him to climb Atlas Corporation's ladder. She wanted Aaron to have a less-deadly job, but more than anything, she wanted to not be left behind.

Aaron had explained with an infuriating calmness that he liked the challenge of his mercenary jobs, since she should understand that. He explained he was saving people from murderous bandits. 

“I was a murderous bandit.” He chuckled and shook his head. 

“No dear, you were not murderous. You wouldn't have killed anyone.” As he grabbed the Aspis and slung it over his shoulders on the way out the door, he missed the glare she threw him. 

***

When their son was two months from being born, she’d had enough. Her breaking point, as it turned out, was the same day as his. Aaron had been gone for almost six days on a job. They rarely, if ever, went over three. When he had come home, he’d looked like the living dead and had dropped the shield on the floor with an uncharacteristic thunk. 

“I left Atlas. I’m going freelance, and I have my first job in Tundra Express.” His eyes were wet and hollow , and if Haley hadn't been at the point of combustion (from pregnancy and rage/worry) she may have seen through the wall he was putting up. Instead, she attempted to blow the wall up.

“What the FUCK, Aaron! Our son is due anytime now and you're working freelance? Do you have any idea what danger you and I and our child will be in? Give up the assassinations and get a safer job! I gave it up for you- it's time you did the same. For all three of us.” They had argued for hours as Aaron tried in vain to stress how his skillset being put to use would keep them in decent-enough money without betraying to her the real reason for his defection from Atlas. Haley had taken Aaron's earlier sign of emotion as weakness and struggled to hammer home the importance of her husband not losing himself to violence. 

A week later, he received an email from P3N310P3. He deleted it without reading it, but opened it 48 hours later. After a painful night of consideration, he did what he had to do. He went for a walk to clear his head, and heard his phone ring. Closing his eyes, he braced himself for his night to get longer.

***

Aaron, I received a call from a Penelope from Hyperion.  
….  
….  
She told me you turned down the job. Was that a lie?  
….  
So you knew there is a bounty on your head?  
…  
That pause was more pregnant than I am. Now let's try that answer again but with words, Aaron.  
…  
We talked about this. You promised you would be here for me and our son. You promised you'd give up the jobs.   
… … …  
No, and I don't want to know why this one's special. There will _always_ be bandits to be killed, Aaron. There will always be another target, another job.  
…  
 _IT WILL NEVER STOP, AARON. THIS ISN'T WHO YOU ARE, IT'S WHAT YOU DO._  
...  
Fine. But so help me God, if tomorrow morning when I get up that shield of yours isn't still in the dumpster I threw it in, I won't be far behind it, going out that door.  
… …   
Good night.

***

“Yes sir, he accepted.”


	7. All Aboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jenna Jareau meets Emily Prentiss. Derek Morgan meets Spencer Reid. Aaron Hotchner begins to wonder what he was thinking.
> 
> Handsome Jack says hello.

***8***  
It wasn't supposed to be like this, Emily Prentiss thought. She was going to meet with some other vault hunters on the train who wanted to seek out Pandora's riches. Handsome Jack had requested a commando, a lawbringer, a mechromancer, a gladiator, and a siren. What he got was a black stud in (tight) black clothes, a smart-mouthed bitch, a walking encyclopedia who alternated between fearful silence and being unable to shut the fuck up, and a man with a silent glower who did NOT blink. That one, the non-blinker, was going to be in charge of leading these jackasses, she guessed. A garrish, cartoony welcome sign had hung above the entrance to the food car, and she had heard Morgan snicker. Hotch had told them to “shut it” followed by a comment under his breath that they were like “a pack of wild, untrained puppies competing to piss on the same tree” when the first pot of coffee was ready, all of them bickering and scraping over the hot caffeine. There had been more, but she had politely walked away to the second car where the other woman sat.

Her mother, rest her domineering black heart, had told Emily that if you didn't have anything nice to say to not say anything. Jenna had other thoughts. The small blond had called dibs on a seat first due to winning the battle for the first cup of coffee and was focused on cleaning her pistols and whistling.

“If you don't have anything nice to say, come sit over here with me. Sup?" She put out a greasy hand towards Prentiss. A cool but not unpleasant smile crossed her face, and her blue eyes were hard and bright, but not unkind. They were the eyes of a killer, a skilled woman who would not go down without a fight, a mother, a warrior. A shining, rich blue topaz with onyx centers, framed with thick mascara. She wore no other makeup, Prentiss noted. That said, she certainly was not plain. She wore fluted low-rise blue jeans with gold and white stitching, a decent turtle shield, a nurse class mod, and two other guns on her back. Her cowgirl boots were a warm mahogany brown, and shown off the same shade of leather patching the elbows and shoulders of her denim jacket. A navy cowgirl hat with a gold-toned buckle, matching her belt buckle's shade, rested on the seat adjacent to her. Prentiss managed a small but cautious smile and shook the outstretched hand.

"Emily Prentiss. Siren, vault hunter. Pleasure to meet you." The blue eyes twinkled for a second and the blond pulled away her hat, motioning permission for Prentiss to sit with her.

"Pleasure's all mine, bitch. Jennifer Jareau. Lawbringer, vault hunter." She paused, slapping the barrel of her newly-cleaned pistol back in place. It was, Prentiss realized, a Jakobs. Unable to hold back a larger smile, she added, "If it takes more than one shot, you're not using a Jakobs." Prentiss slid next to Jareau, eyeing the pistol carefully.

"That's some nice loot. Is that a Judge?" The Judge was a high-quality, specialty pistol. It was not a surprise to see a vault hunter wielding a Jakobs pistol- the weapons manufacturer was well known for their guns dealing more damage to enemies than others. However, the Jakobs company was often looked down on due to their weapons’ wooden stocks, old-fashioned western styles, and that they were not automatics. Emma could see the hint of a cyan blue tattoo peeking under the shirt hem, and she pretended not to know what that meant.

Only six sirens could exist in the world alive at the same time, and Prentiss felt fortunate to have met another one in her lifetime. Sirens were identified by cyan tattoos covering the left side of their bodies- starting at their shoulder, covering their arm, and reaching down to their hip and inside their inner thigh. They were always female, always able to do a "Phase" ability, and able to use a “Phoenix” ability. A siren could heal their teammates by shooting them. They could save a comrade on the battlefield by locking their Phase ability on them and reviving them. The Phoenix ability- the ability to sprout wings and have incendiary elemental powers- was a benefit to a vault hunting team. Nothing made adventuring better than knowing with a siren you wouldn't die and that your opponents would be scorched alive if they messed with you. It was due to this elemental ability that most sirens throughout history favored elemental weapons. If you could fire extra-potent flaming bullets, why wouldn't you? Fire was the best element as it burned flesh, but corrosive acid made quick work out of robots, and shock weapons with electric projectiles took down an enemy's shield like a hot knife through butter. Jakobs had only a few rare elemental weapons, so most sirens choose other manufacturers.

Jareau seemed to read Prentiss' thoughts, and had picked up on the (not so subtle) reaction Emily had displayed at catching sight of the tattoo. Momentary panic set in, but Jenna leaned in and quirked a smirk and a side glance. 

"I know what you're thinkin', why bother with a gun that fires as fast as you pull the trigger when I could waste some bandit with an automatic fire weapon... well, I don't miss, bitch, so any bandit who thinks they're crossing my path, they won't be thinking after I spot them. I never miss. I specialize in long distance attacks and sniper rifles - but if shit gets hot at short range, I have a few pistols that will do in a pinch. This baby is one of them. I carry a Jakobs Maggie as well." The Maggie was an even more rare and deadly pistol, and Prentiss was impressed. Sniping skills were wise to have as a siren- staying back and hidden with a scope meant you stayed alive long enough to heal your team. Add an additional elemental bonus and then the fun really started.

"You're incredible. Where are you from, exactly?"

"Lynchwood. You?"

"The Highlands. I always loved a good green gaelic countryside." The women laughed. _Her voice is music, she really is just incredible._

"Call me JJ or Jenna." Emily nodded.

"Emma. Or Emmae. My middle name is Mabel so I was Emma Mae for a while, until I had to reinvent myself again." Jenna chuckled.

"Alright Emma. That's a badass bitch name. I think we're gonna get along great. You got a Phase ability?

"I can Phaselock. I lock onto an enemy and suspend them in the air. I have a Blight Phoenix ability as well, so anytime I do any elemental damage my wings pop out. Sometimes they do just because I’m excited… I uhm… I have a hard time keeping them under control sometimes.” She chuckled. “I use acid clouds on enemies, and do a lot of elemental damage. I can set enemies on fire with melee attacks, too."

"Good girl. I Phasewalk, so I can disapparate and reappear behind someone to take 'em out." _She can disappear, kill you, and bring you back to life. Good friend to have._

***　

The man across from him didn't move. He appeared to be reading, or at least doing a superb job of blatantly (but politely) ignoring Derek Morgan. Derek had to give him props- most people just pretended he didn't exist like they did with most black men. Derek preferred to be ignored over being treated like a threat.

"What you reading, kid?" The mop of caramel brown hair rose for a second, showing acknowledgement of the man across from him, but otherwise remained still. Finally, a tenor voice spoke.

"Tristan and Isolde." After a few moments of silence that was neither judging, nor stony, he continued. "It's a favorite. I know it word for word, but there's nothing like having it, you know?" Derek really didn't know. He read books, some historical fiction ( _and some harlequin romance novels he'd never confess to reading, let alone OWNING_ ) but he didn't really carry them with him- they sat in a stack on the floor in his house near Tundra Express- a rocky but scenic area full of mountains and valleys. He sure as hell didn't know any of them word for word.

"Yeah, books can help me chill at night. Looks like a pretty new copy for a old favorite." The head popped up again, a few wayward strands of hair fluttering and framing the young, slim face. He had full lips, owl-like hazel eyes, and a thin, perky nose. His every feature was beautifully slender- his frame, his long fingers, his legs. Derek was impressed with the kid- not many people who looked like a hard wind could knock them over would be caught dead in the vault hunting game. He could tell the kid was sizing him up carefully, too. Shaved head, broad muscled shoulders in a tight black henley and a black leather jacket, Derek was a man who turned heads. He wore well-fitting dark blue jeans and black leather work boots with new, thick soles. _He's versatile,_ Reid thought. There was an olive and yellow camouflage painted assault rifle on the seat next to him. If Derek carried other weapons, they were clearly inconsequential, and Reid knew that the Dahl AR was more for crowd control than damage. This man was a built fighter.

"This is a newer copy. I picked it up two weeks ago at the bookstore in Concordia. The other copy I have is in good condition but it's kind of..." there was silence for a few moments as the younger man's face turned thoughtful. "It's my mother's. She used to teach up in Promethea and I didn't want to take uhm… I didn’t want to read that copy today." It wasn't lost on him that the kid had just opened up a bit, or the unspoken pieces. 

"It's a treasure." 

"Yeah. It really is." The men looked each other in the eyes for a few moments in silence- Reid daring the older man to make a comment, Morgan waiting for the kid to react. Finally, Morgan slid back into the train seat and put his feet up. 

"I don't blame you, kid. It's gonna be a long trip; hope you brought more than just one book." The tone was friendly, not teasing, and not what Reid was expecting.

What he had expected was to have the commando sitting across from him come off as an alpha male, verbally remind him of his place, test his strength one way or another, insult him, look down on him as many did, treat him like a lesser. This man, this powerful man who Reid doubted would ever speak to him in any other situation in life, was in fact speaking to him as a peer, and engaging in the conversation. Reid couldn't help but crack a warm smile. He had a few friends, but generally he didn't make them easily. 

It came out in their friendly banter that Morgan was originally with Dahl and knew Elpis well, and had worked in the legion there for several years before becoming a vault hunter. Both men grew up closer to their mothers, both enjoyed mechanical work. Reid startled Morgan with the revelation that he was a decent melee fighter, using his light frame to nimbly dodge enemies, only to slam them with violent physical counter attacks with claw-blades on his hands to mirror those on his robot. It was clear to Morgan that Reid was no wispy willow, but a tenacious young man who would fight to the death for those close to him. Derek Morgan decided then and there that if this kid was going to throw himself into harm's way, regardless of whether he was sporting a robot named Death Trap or not, he would have the best big brother of a commando covering his back.

***

Derek Morgan wasn't a betting man, but if he was, he would bet he could light the gladiator next to them on fire and the man _still_ wouldn't goddamn blink. He was cold, with eyes and hair the color of dark roast coffee sitting in a clear mug on your windowsill in the moonlight. His complexion was not pale, but lighter than most, and he was a few inches taller as well. There was a light in his eyes, but Morgan was certain they hadn't blinked in the 2 hours the team had been in the food car.

He wore a pair of red armored boots that went up to his calves, a slate blue suit, a red armor breastplate & shoulder pads, and a broken-in leather vest that gave added protection. A red protective pad covered his right knee, and he wore black gloves. The glove on his left hand was fingerless, allowing better grip with his shield. A wide scarf, darker slate blue with two thin white stripes running down the center, was wrapped loosely around his neck. _This man is prepared._ He was drinking tea, for fuck’s sake, and eating a sliver of what appeared to be _some sort_ of a pastry. Beside him lay a large metal shield in the same colors of slate blue and red. There was a black corrosive shotgun on the seat next to him, a Hyperion Viral Marketer.  
　  
"Hyperion shotguns have terrible accuracy. Hope your shield is decent." The silent man lifted his head but kept the frown and hard look he'd had since boarding the train.

"Hyperion shotguns have increased accuracy the more you fire. I’m not a sniper; I plan to fire a lot." He took a drink of tea. "And yes, my shield is decent." An Aspis shield could take a high amount of damage and deal it back should it strike an airborne target. Morgan had a feeling the man before him could take someone’s head clean off as easily as putting butter on bread.

***

After some rounds of poker that made Emma swear she would beat Reid’s scrawny arse seven ways to Sunday, a clicking noise began. The five of them stood, turning to face the sound, all laughter coming to an abrupt halt. The large, colorful welcome sign that had greeted them slowly shifted panes, and the words “WELCOME VAULT HUNTERS!” now was followed by “TO YOUR DOOM! (Nothing personal.)” The happy, smiling face of Jack on the poster had changed as well to one a little more demonic. The clicking continued, and Aaron Hotchner seized his shield and positioned himself protectively in front of Reid. He shot the team a worried glance and then scowled forwards.

“It's a trap.” Spencer gulped, and Emily let out a snarl.

“Goddamned robots!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are not familiar with Borderlands, you can google the weapons to see them. 
> 
> This was the chapter that the others were born from. Thank you for all the support.


	8. The Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Within hours of boarding the train to reach their destination on Pandora, Handsome Jack shows his true colors. The team band together and show they can look after each other and put up a fight.
> 
> Jennifer Jareau's secret gets out again, and smoke isn't the only thing in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder that in this AU JJ is out of character. She's rough around the edges, but that heart of gold is there. She's a good judge of character, but she puts on a tough front.

***9***  
He was falling. The frigid air bit at his face, as did shards of glass and debris as his body somersaulted with a gracelessness that wasn’t his fault. His world was a crystal aquamarine blurr, and as the clearest blue twisted violently into white, a single thought permeated Spencer’s consciousness, screaming out loud to him despite the situation.

 _I wonder how he tastes…_  
A second later, the rapidly approaching whiteness went jet black, and he thought no more.

***

Jenna had spun first at the sound of the loader bots becoming activated, their beeps and whirs bringing her body from relaxed to alert and assertive in a single fluid movement, long blond tresses swinging with her. By the time Morgan had flown to the end of the train car, deploying his turret and whipping out his Scorpio assault rifle, she had emptied the contents of her revolver into the face of the bot directly in front of her and was cursing blood and vinegar at them. Standing in between the gap of Morgan and Jenna, Emily had hurled a corrosive cloud grenade at their assailants. It had burst, launching a homing spray of acid over the robots. Their beeps and clicks were now distressed, and the noise increased immediately as the two women unleashed a nightmare onto them.

Derek Morgan wasn’t surprised by much of anything anymore, but he had shot a glance of surprise and awe at Hotch over his shoulder that said, _Are you seeing this? Holy hell._ He knew the two women in front of him were as capable as any vault hunters, but his eyes had widened in reverence and shock as Emily’s obsidian wings burst from her shoulders and a large cloud of corrosive green acid rained havoc and agony down on the remaining two bots, their screams and shrill beeps deafening. 

Jenna had put the first bot out of commission alone, but the acid and extra bullets were certainly making quick work of the rest. Emily’s eyes darkened as she launched her Phaselock attack on the stronger of the two remaining bots. The unfortunate thing was lifted from the ground in a floating blue-purple orb, where a barrage of elemental damage tore at its armor like cola on rust. Shock, fire, and acid ate at it, and with a quick flick of her wrist, Emily sent the whole mess smashing through the train’s side door, the beleaguered bot’s horrified squeals following it as it went flying out into the oblivion. Jenna had shot her a minuet glance and grinned like a madwoman.

“Sick work, bitch.”

“Hotch, there’s a ticking sound coming from the next car. Want me to investigate?” Aaron nodded to the soldier. 

“Take Jennifer and Emily with you. I’m going up.” Jenna opened her mouth, but Emily shot her a glare of her own and the three of them took off.

Door gone and the train car compromised, Hotch launched himself out and upwards, hauling himself bodily upon the roof of the car. He hurled the Aspis at the robots blocking his path, sending them flying. He had never enjoyed standing on moving transit systems (not that he made a habit of it, mind you) but it was clear that Doctor Reid was quite at ease with his surroundings. A pair of Hyperion agents wearing cybernetic enhancements on their arms and backs were cautiously approaching him, and he was grinning. As easily as if it were a tabletop game, Reid spun like a dancer, dodging and weaving between the thrown fists and shoulder-mounted cannon fire. He moved with a fluidity that left Hotch’s mouth dry and made his heart pound-partially in fear for his youngest team member and partially in… something else? He wasn’t sure, but it was there, and when the mecromancer’s digistructed claws sliced through the two goons with artfully calculated strikes, the feeling was still very much there. It blossomed in his chest, a warm flare of _want_ and the slightest dash of _protect_. Reid’s eyes lifted, startled by what he saw in the stoic team leader’s eyes. His claws had long since disappeared, and his stance had shifted to one a bit more uneasy and submissive.

“Good work, Reid. Digistructable technology never ceases to amaze me.” The younger man’s face flushed a light rose, and a smile flashed quickly across his lips and his hazel eyes. Hotch couldn’t hold back the small smile that crossed his own lips as well. 

“It was nothing, sir. Once I had the exact calculations and statistics I needed to upgrade and enhance Death Trap, I figured the extra set of claws couldn’t hurt. Besides, I’m dreadful with guns.” This wasn’t a lie, and Hotch knew it as he had seen Reid’s stats. 

“You aren’t the only one who would benefit from some more in-depth target practice, for what it’s worth. I’m hoping Jennifer Jareau and I can work with you and the others once we---“

The ground went out from beneath them. Hotch shouted, then yelled at the top of his lungs to Reid, to his team, as the train car exploded and blew apart like an overweight bumblebee striking the windshield of a Lamborghini. Glass, metal, smoke, and the bodies of his vault hunters flew in all directions, and the rush of black smoke blinded his eyes as he whirled backwards through the sky like an oak leaf on the wind. He opened his mouth, crying out to Reid for a split second before his body struck the snow-covered terrain and his words and breath were knocked from him. His head crumpled forward, and he went still.

***

" _MOTHERFUCKER! AUGH GOD DAMN IT I DIDN’T FUCKING NEED THAT WHORE OF A KNEE ANYWAY! FUCK! SHIT! FUCK! AUGH!_ ” Jenna struggled to her feet. God, she hated snow. It was in her _gun_ in her _pants_ , in her…

“JESUS EVEN MY TITS ARE WET! WHAT IN THE FUCK, WHO THE FUCK, _FUCK!_ ” Her eyes were alight with fury as she wrestled her way into a less unsteady upright position. 

“ANY OF YOU OTHER FUCKERS ALIVE? BRONZE CHOCOLATE MAN? SKINNY SHIT? RAVEN BITCH? HOTCHNER?” For some reason, his full last name seemed as good a comment as any. She saw a pair of black boots and kicking pant legs facing her at 10 o’clock left, and she sprinted painfully towards what appeared to be Emily Prentiss’ thrashing posterior. Jenna uttered a dark chuckle at the sight before her. Emily was pinned by a heavy piece of metal debris, her arms trapped beneath her and her face pressed down in the snow. She was struggling and kicking wildly in a desperate effort to free herself and not suffocate in a snowbank albeit with little success. Jenna hauled on the debris- a warped bar-like object, and she soon heard the huffing and thumping of a man running through the thick snow towards her. She whirled on him, pistol in her hand, eyes focused on his chest for a lethal shot, but holstered the weapon as Morgan put his hands up in horror.

“Sorry man. Getting blown out of a train kind of fucks with my nerves.” Morgan cracked a smile and shook his head. 

“Hey, good response time is a plus in this business, little momma.” The scowl and borderline murderous look that flitted across her face made the dark man pale a bit, and he backed up. 

“Sorry, I won’t call you that again.” 

“Jenna or JJ. Only person who gets to call me Momma is a six year old boy at home.” She motioned towards Prentiss’ weakly moaning figure behind her. “Help me lift this fucking thing, will ya?” Morgan seized the wreckage and hurled it off of Prentiss like he was lifting a bag of potatoes off the floor of a kitchen. She coughed feebly, and Jenna quickly went about healing her, speaking to her in a soft and tender tone of voice Morgan imagined only showed itself around a certain six year old. Deciding that opening his mouth to potentially enrage Jenna was the poorer of his options, he instead turned and began to run towards the center of the wreckage, eyes scanning the snow-covered ground for signs of the kid or his boss.

Emily sat up painfully, her breaths ragged and sharp, eyes wet and clothes soaked. The pain was subsiding rapidly as the blond cared for her, a gently pulsing warmth of healing flowing into her body. Once she was at one hundred percent, Emily rose and hugged her. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m a siren, too. I just don’t advertise it. Besides, I need you not to die since you’re supposed to heal the rest of _us_ when we get bruised up, remember?” She laughed softly, blue eyes sparkling. “No good comes from a dead healer.” Emily hummed in agreement. Then she went stiff.

“Wait, you and I and Morgan are here, but Hotch-“

“-went up after Reid!” Jenna finished. The women locked eyes, and without a word they were in opposite directions running- Jenna headed left towards the train’s original course, Emily coursing right, headed towards where Morgan had run earlier. Desperate for a burst of speed, Emily channeled her thoughts to a nearby circling murder of crows. _FIND THEM_ , she sang to them, and the birds flew in all directions. One uttered a strong call and she willed it to go to Jenna, while she continued to follow Morgan’s tracks. A few moments later, as she drew closer to the mess of what had been a train car, she heard and saw the remaining four birds cawing loudly towards a limp form sprawled in the snow.

Spencer’s hair was singed in spots and his long-sleeve shirt was burned in patches. There were slices on his cheek and blood pooled around his nose and mouth. He was, thankfully, still alive, but Morgan shot her a frantic _help me out here because I'm so not a healer_ look that she understood immediately. The healing began quickly, and she watched as her teammate slowly went from barely alive to healthy and good as new. She smiled as his eyelids began to flutter. 

“Reid? Reid. REID. _Spencer?_ ” His given name was spoken with a softness that when he heard it made him feel like he was wanted back on this world, and he began to shift to sit up. Placing the palms of his hands on his knees and forcing himself in a sitting position, he looked up and stared at Emily for a few minutes. She stared back at him. He was odd; he gave off such an odd aura. Part of her worried for him, and part of her wanted to shake him for being so… stupid. Why had he been on the roof? Why had he gone alone? Why had he volunteered for this when he was so damn young and vulnerable? As if he could read her thoughts, his head lifted and he looked up to meet her reddish-chocolate eyes. _Spicy chocolate,_ he thought. Like cayenne pepper in cocoa. The moment ended with a *SPLUSHH* and a yowl of confusion.

“MORGAN! WHAT THE FU—”

“Snowball! Hahaha! Come back to Pandora, Pretty Boy.” Reid wiped the slush out of his eyes and raked his fingers through his snow-clogged hair. 

“Ugh, gah, what the, was that really necessary?” He turned to face Morgan, expecting to see the older man with malicious intent on his face. Instead, he saw both Derek and Emily smiling and giggling like children, in a playful and friendly way.

Friendly.  
They were his friends.

The revelation made Spencer smile, and he scooped two balls in the snow quickly. Before they knew it, both Emily and Derek were coughing and swearing, wiping the snow from their faces and laughing with Spencer. _I haven’t laughed in so long…_

***

“Dumb shits,” Jenna swore as she healed her unconscious boss. He had been knocked out hard, and she knew if he hadn’t had a siren or two on the team to look out for him, he’d likely be in a world of hurt when he woke up. She could feel his broken bones mending and watched the gash on the back of his head slowly recover. She doubted her words would help, or that he’d even care, but she murmured phrases of encouragement and comfort as his injuries faded. At last, a shudder and a moan came from his lungs, and she saw his eyes slowly blink, then rapidly try to focus.

“Easy boss man, even Captain Pandora doesn’t fly like you did.” He tried to smile at the joke, but it came out as a wince. “Hold still, sir. You’re still pretty banged up. There.” She backed up slowly, allowing him his space. Hotch got to his feet, head spinning a little but otherwise feeling as though he’d never been shot across the sky like a toy. 

“Thank you, Ms. Jareau.” A groan and an eye roll struck him loudly, and she barely hid the look of disdain that swept her features.

“ _JENNA. JENNA OR JJ. FUCK.”_ She rubbed her forehead and groaned again. “Seriously, don’t fucking call me anything else. Look, I’m not fucking Atlas Corporate, I’m a fucking sheriff of a small town. God.” She shook her head and met his patented Hotch glare that she had seen leveled at the team a few times already that morning while they had argued over coffee. ”Didn’t they put anything fucking _useful_ in the reports Hyperion gave you about us? Like how Morgan snores like a fat skag and Reid can’t shoot?”

“Or how a certain sheriff in Lynchwood is actually a siren?” That shut her up. Her mouth was open in a furious scowl, her eyes flashed thunder, dark and stormy.

“You wouldn’t _DARE—“_

“You used a high-level healing ability on me, and bullets were ricocheting off of you from those loader bots. Those are skills only sirens have, JJ, and you,” he paused and raised a finger at her as her mouth moved to utter what he was sure would be some less than tasteful language, “YOU chose to expose yourself to this team, not someone else, you.” She was shaking now, she was radiating anger and he was certain if it wasn’t for the recognition in her gut of what he was saying, the horrible truth that he was right, that she would have blown his head off with the silver revolver on her hip. She ground her teeth and snarled, storm still brewing in her eyes.

“I couldn’t just let my boss DIE IN A SNOWBANK!” She pulled off her hat, ran shaking fingers through her fluttering golden hair, and shoved the hat back down on her head, face burning. “I’m not going to answer to Handsome Jack why the fuck I watched our fearless leader freeze to death!”

“And I’m not going to tell him I know you’re a siren.” She stared at him incredulously, their eyes hard and full of resolve. She blinked first, but did not look away.

“What.” It was a statement, not a question. Her mind was starting to reel again, and she took a rough breath and steeled herself to continue. _“What?”_

“I said, I’m not going to tell him. He lied to us. He just tried to kill all five of us. He meticulously recruited us into his game, fed us a story we wanted to hear about a vault full of loot, put us on a train, ambushed us with his own subordinates, and he blew us up.” He paused for a moment, and she shifted her stance from the aggressive one she had been holding to a more receptive one. She wasn’t smiling, and she wasn’t stupid, but she was listening so Hotch continued. “I don’t know what the full extent of his motivations are, or why he chose us out of all the vault hunters he could, but it’s safe to guess that those motives are hostile. We need to form a plan. Sit down as a team, analyze what we know about him, and develop a strategy to get the answers we need.” He sighed, and she managed a small smile.

“Now, that’s all well and good, Hotch, but how about we get the fuck out of this snow globe first?” Hotch didn’t smile, but his eyes lightened a little, and hers did, too.

“That sounds good, JJ.”


	9. Windshear Waste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all fun & games until someone loses an arm.

***10***  
“Follow my voice.” 

It was faint, but the five vault hunters looked around themselves in confusion. They had regrouped and were trying to make out what direction to continue in. Staying still outside in this cold would be the death of his team, Hotch knew, but he couldn't make out what direction would be best. The landscape all looked the same - flat white expanse with fading blue sky. That blue sky was paling and turning whiter by the second as the wind picked up, sending shards of cold against their faces. He pulled his cowl-scarf close over his head and face, forming a hooded barrier. Morgan had tugged on a navy knit hat, and Jenna was clutching her cowgirl hat to her head, desperately trying not to let the increasingly hostile winds take it from her. Her eyes were scrunched shut and her free arm was linked tightly around one of Emily’s. Emily had nothing to protect her face, and her raven hair blew around her wildly as though it were a spirit possessed. Reid’s hair was tousled savagely as well, though he had pulled a pair of goggles down to protect his eyes. As he squinted and blinked rapidly, Hotch didn't doubt they were meant for mechanical experimentation and not a frozen wasteland.

“Follow my voice. This way.” The voice was sweet and feminine, like that of an angel. They looked at each other in frustrated hopelessness, until Morgan spoke. 

“It could be a trap.”

“I don't see anyone. I mean, I can't see anything, really, but specifically there’s no one else here that I can make out. The voice feels like it's coming from that direction.” Spencer pointed right and shifted uneasily. “This doesn't make sense.” The wind had picked up, and visibility was quickly diminishing.

“Both of you two, hush. We’re lost, so I say we follow the voice.” Emily and Hotch nodded, and every few minutes the words continued, a tiny bit louder each time. After what felt like forever, the weary crew made it across the bleak wasteland safely, walking as a pack as the icy winds tore at them. They stayed close to each other, Hotch draping a protective arm around the slim genius, Morgan taking Emily’s other hand and constantly shifting his gaze over all of the team, ensuring no one was left behind. Finally, they heard good news.

“Here, get in here. It's a safe house. Rest here and be safe.” Murmurs of weary gratitude came from the team, but Morgan still wasn't ready to blindly trust an invisible voice.

“Who are you, and why don't you show yourself?” Morgan looked exhaustedly up at the sky, desperate for answers.

“My name is P3N310P3, and I’m an artificial intelligence - an AI. I’m here to guide you. I have to go, mocha man, but we’ll talk again soon.” 

***

It took a bit of wrestling, but Hotch and Morgan hauled the door to the safe house open. The team had drawn their guns, and cautiously cleared the small shelter. It was built using snow bricks and robot parts, but was well insulated from the storm. It was clear whoever constructed it had been marooned for some time. Inside was an old fireplace and sparse wooden furniture. Morgan bellowed out in delight that at least there was a good stash of firewood that was dry. The five of them huddled around the fire he had started, boiling snow into water and gathering scraps of old clothing and blankets to make bedding. A few chests of ammo and cash were quickly looted and divided.

Jenna took the old, worn couch in the center of the small shelter. It was a burnt sherbet orange color with pale spring green and beige striping. Jenna doubted the beige was a natural color, but was thankful for anything. Spencer had laid out a few old jackets & curled up near the fireplace, writing and sketching on some paper.

“A shitty igloo in the middle of iced-tits nowhere is a sad place to write your will & testament, Spence. Are you of sound mind and body? Who has dibs on your weapons when you die?” Spencer's eyes had darkened at the “mind & body” comment, something that wasn't lost on Jenna. He nibbled his lip for a moment without looking up and then spoke. 

“It's a map, and we aren't in the middle of nowhere. We’re in Windshear Waste. It's a dumping ground for parts and scrap metal. As far as my guns, I have a Jakobs Law pistol you can have if I don't make it.”

“I’m shocked you own something like that, but Hotch mentioned you were quite the melee fighter. I guess a bladed gun would make sense.” He seemed to be bracing for an insult, so she lowered her voice. “Tomorrow morning, you and me, let's do some target practice. Line up some of these robot bodies and have some fun.” she shot him a toothy grin, and he managed a small smile. He opened his mouth to speak again, but shut it quickly as Hotch and Morgan came in from the small side-room attached to the shelter. They had been in there for close to an hour, and by the determined frowns they both wore, it wasn’t good news.

“We all need to talk. As a team. Now.” Spencer coiled himself next to Jenna’s feet near the couch’s side; Jenna leaned forward with her elbows on her knees; Morgan sat next to the younger man. He had picked up that Spencer wasn't a fan of people being too close to his personal space, so he plave a gap between himself and the kid. The glance Spencer shot him confirmed gratitude and camaraderie. Hotch was not as relaxed, and was pacing in front of the fire.

“Where is Prentiss?” 

“She went outside a little while ago. Said she wanted to look around.”

“Alone?!! You let her go alone?” Morgan's eyes were huge, and Reid shot a bewildered doe-eyed look at Jenna, who had begun to bristle.

“Okay, first things first, I don’t LET her do anything. She can make her own dumbass choices. Second, she has skills in scouting- she told me so. I felt if anyone should be doing it, it should be her.” Morgan gaped, but raised his eyebrows as Reid spoke up.

“We watched her melt people with her brain, Morgan. She’ll be okay.” Jenna snickered and Hotch shot her a look.

“Actually, Reid, it was my siren power and not my brain, but I agree that my acid cloud skills are awesome!” Emily wandered in, hair caked with snow but eyes bright and face smiling. Spencer and JJ smiled at her in welcome and with faith, Morgan and Hotch’s faces morphed to relief.

“Glad you're safe. Now, Morgan and I have surveying the side study, which the previous resident used as a crude panic room, and we found enough dry rations for the next three days if we split them evenly, and we will. Also, there’s some notes about a place called Sanctuary. It looks like whoever was here was trying to get there. We found notes,” he paused and handed them to Reid, “and it looks like there are radio broadcasts from someone named G. Sharp who is trying to get people running from Handsome Jack to Sanctuary for their safety. The notes suggest Sharp has been aware of Jack’s true malicious m.o. for awhile.” As Hotch paused, Reid spoke up, motioning to the notes.

“This G. Sharp writes about the Crimson Lance. ‘Sharp’ could be a play on ‘lance’. In fact, during the periods of classical and medieval warfare, the lance evolved into being the leading weapon in cavalry charges, and was unsuited for throwing or for repeated thrusting, unlike similar weapons of the spear/javelin/pike family typically used by infantry. Lances were often equipped with a vamplate – a small circular-”

“REID.” Spencer's eyes were huge and he gulped. Hotch smiled gently. “Focus, Reid.” 

“Right. Sorry. Anyway, it's safe to guess this Sharp may have been a soldier. I've heard of Sanctuary,” and Reid eyes became large and his arms animated, “but I didn't realize how or why it was founded. Sir David Rossi, this author I do contract work for, he was on his way there awhile ago. He was working on his almanac about bullymongs.” At the mention of the horrid frost apes, Emily spoke up.

“Yeah, well, there’s plenty of those around here. I tried to make a map-” Spencer cut her off and handed her the one he had been sketching. “Uhm, thanks Reid, this is better than mine. Okay, gather around.” The team gathered closer, and she began to mark the map with her pen. “Here, here, here, here, and here all bullymong nests. They live in these ice holes up near the tops of the glacier’s edges. JJ, stop laughing about ice holes. If we keep going this way, we might get closer to some sort of civilization. The bullymongs are omnivores so they need to feed off or near bandit camps.” 

“Based on how the bullymong colonies are set up, they may have an alpha running their pack. We’re on it's turf. None of you go out alone. We split into pairs if we have to, but never alone. Prentiss, I have to stress that we are grateful to have this information, but you're our siren, and if our healer dies, we have no chance of making it to Sanctuary. Be more safe next time.” 

Emily nodded, and they sat down to eat a bit of the rations. Dried skag meat, beans and rice were cooked over the fire. Hotch proved to be a good cook, using what little bits of seasoning were available to make the most out of their meal. They ate in silence, drinking the clean water slowly and savoring the warmth of the fire. Spencer yawned, and the others followed suit not long after, resting against the couch and blankets. There was sleepy silence until Morgan spoke up, voice filled with concern.

“So, P3N310P3, the mystical voice in the sky. Can we please talk about that? Because seriously, I can’t be the only one freaking out a little bit over that, right?” Spencer went to speak, but a crashing sound froze him and he paled at the sight before them.

Aaron’s shield and Jenna’s pistol were drawn and ready, but it was too late. As Emily screamed and went for her SMG, a bullymong of enormous proportions smashed through the ceiling of the safe house. It had a heavy ruff of blueish-silver fur around its throat, and the tusks were long and savage-looking in the firelight glow. With a great swing, it sent Morgan and Jenna flying. Jenna struck the wall and crumpled, her pistol knocked from her hand. Hotch yelled out to her frantically.

“Jareau! JJ!”

“JJ! MORGAN!”

Morgan had been thrown into the couch, his body thrown so hard that when he slammed into it, the couch had flipped and landed painfully on top of him. Emily ran to Jenna, screaming the woman's name as she healed her, and Spencer went to call Death Trap. Hotch watched in horror as the beast focused on the mechromancer in front of him. To his credit, Spencer stood bravely before the great bullymong, and Aaron felt something painfully tug in him again as Reid glared at the snarling menace before him. 

“Klaatu Barada--- AUUUGH!” Spencer’s mechanical arm was wrenched from his body, and the kid howled in agony and terror as the bullymong roared back at him. Hotch threw his shield at the beast's head, but the monster grabbed it mid-air and hurled it back at him. Hotch launched himself out of the way as the Aspis embedded itself into the ground mere seconds later. Panting, he rolled onto his back and started firing his shotgun, calling out to Reid.

“Reid! REID! REID!” Despite the pain, Reid had pulled out his pistol and was firing at the bullymong, swearing as it climbed the wall and leapt back out of the the hole it had created. Behind him, he heard Jenna cursing as Emily healed Morgan.

“Fucking monkey! Spence, shit! Hotch, we’ve got to get that fucker.” Her blue eyes were flashing between rage and concern.

“Did you see that thing? It was as tall as three technicals! Okay, maybe just two and a half, but still, shit, how are we going to kill that thing? Reid, you okay?” Morgan turned and went to support the injured young man. Sparks came intermittently from the mangled upper arm. Spencer stared in misery at what was left of him limb and whimpered.

“People think robots can't feel pain, but they can, in great intensity. I’ll be okay but,” he paused and looked up into the dark man’s eyes, “I need my arm. I can't use digistruct technology without it. No Death Trap, no claws, I need it. I’m useless to you all without it.” He frowned and looked fixed his eyes on the ground, missing the looks of concern and sympathy from the others, especially Aaron, who was formulating an immediate comeback.

“Reid, you're not useless to us without your arm. You have a variety of talents, and your mechromancing capability is only one of them. We’ll discuss this further later, but right now we need to focus on making a plan to get your arm. We need to act before it gets dark. I know we’re all tired, but this can't wait; we aren't safe here.” 

A light sparkled in Emily’s eyes, and she grabbed the map, spreading it out before them. She whistled, and after a few moments a small crow soared down and perched on her shoulder. Stroking its feathers, she looked into the eyes of her team members. Slowly, a smile began to cross their faces.

“I have a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We won't actually see G. Sharp for a quite few more chapters, but they will come up in the story with growing importance each time.
> 
> Next chapter will bring P3N310P3 and Dave back, though.


	10. Liar's Berg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Handome Jack is very aware that Aaron Hotchner and his team are somehow still alive and making their way across the Southern Shelf. He decides to make their likelihood of survival a bit more interesting.
> 
> Dave Rossi is also very aware of their presence, and makes his known.

***11***  
Thursday started like the last several days had. He had some rations and wine for breakfast, did some writing, and had rations and wine for lunch. He poked the fireplace and frowned, the sting of loneliness bitter and strong. Dave was used to being lonely, three ex-wives would do that, and big game hunting coupled with his writing pursuits had filled the void. That and his old pet skag, Mudgie, who had passed before he had come out to the Southern Shelf. Dave puttered around his small makeshift bookshelf and pulled out an old leather-bound mystery book, tugging the feather bookmark out of Chapter 21 and hunkered down for another afternoon of solitude. The radio played a few pop songs dotted with the usual advertisements from the gun manufacturers.

“We see the pain in your eyes. We sense your anger, your feelings of betrayal, and your disgust. And we at Vladof are with you. The time is coming, comrades! The time to stand up and be heard is nearly upon us and you must be prepared. You must be armed! Vladof firearms were designed for this moment in time. Seize it! When you shoulder a Vladof, you will know at once that you are not alone and that you can be heard. You will be heard! All Vladof weapons are constructed in the factories of your brethren and designed to pack the highest firing rate possible. The oppressors will be fast - we know this - Vladof helps you to be even quicker. Rise with Vladof. Together we will forge a better tomorrow!”

“Did you know that 97% of things on Pandora aren't exploding right now? THAT'S BULLSHIT! BUY TORGUE!” Dave always chuckled at the Torgue corporation's ads. Their weapons were bulky and needlessly awkward, but they shot explosive rounds, and it was hard to argue with that. His smile faded fast at the sound of the voice that followed.

“Attention, people of Pandora! Handsome Jack here, offering a million bucks to whoever brings me the head of the Vault Hunters who just arrived in Liar’s Berg. Oh, and I’m still offering a reward for Gina Sharp, the mass-murdering leader of the Crimson Raiders. Good hunting, bandits!”

He sat up and stared at the radio.  
“No shit...”

*

They made decent time thundering through the snow in silence. Their echonet radios, small portable orbs about an inch in diameter that had hung off their belts, had all died in the last hour. Dead radios meant no mysterious angelic voice to guide them. It also meant they were deaf to any current radio broadcasts that could shed light on the Handsome Jack situation. Emily’s scouting had laid the framework for the direction to take, and with the determination to hunt down the gigantic bullymong that had attacked, they had begun to blaze a path across Windshear Waste towards what Aaron Hotchner hoped would be some answers. While Emma was leading the team, SMG in hand, Jenna and Morgan were on either side of Reid. Jenna’s normally explosive nature had tamped down, and while Aaron couldn't hear what she was saying to the young genius, he could catch glimpses of her face.

She was frowning, her golden eyebrows knit together in concern, but her ice blue eyes were constantly roving from around her to Spencer, back and forth, back and forth. She wasn't mothering him, but her concern for him was clear. Morgan was less vocal, but was staying lightly engaged with the kid. He was wearing a smile, the way a child would hold a kitten, too carefully. It was clear to Hotch they were pulling a “big brother-big sister” on Reid, intentionally coordinated or not, but the kid seemed to have relaxed a little around them and was oblivious to some extent. The walls were still up, and they were giving him just enough personal space, but there was an unspoken rhythm to how Morgan and Jenna moved that spoke volumes for their regard for Spencer.

Spencer was brilliant, with his eidetic memory and IQ of 187. The social-awkwardness shouldn't have surprised Aaron as much as it did. The kid had been confident in discussing his field and facts, but the concept of having friends was something that would take work. He was meshing well with all of them, and to some degree Aaron envied the bonds the others had started to form.

The four of them focused on marching ahead & each other allowed Hotch the luxury of his thoughts and the ability to reflect on a couple more things that were bothering him.

Aaron had tried unsuccessfully to reach Haley since they had got on the train and since the explosion. He didn't doubt she was ignoring his calls, but he wanted to make sure she was staying safe. If Handsome Jack had ordered a hit on he & his team, their families could be at risk, at least those with families on Pandora.

The second was what they should do after retrieving Reid’s arm. How would it reconnect? Could it reconnect? Liar's Berg was near the Southern Shelf, and if they could make it past that frozen ledge they could get to Sanctuary. Aaron didn't care for the cold, and he could tell Jenna wasn't a fan of it, either.

“Guys, I found some healin’ over here!” Emily waved over. Reid pawed through them, searching for radio batteries. The winds had let up, and even though the sun was partially hiding behind a cloud, the sheer quantity of abandoned gearboxes full of ammo and health hypos was staggering to him. It further stressed to Aaron that he & his team had been left to die in what was basically a dump. He scooped up some shotgun shells for himself and the blonde lawbringer, and watched as Spencer and Morgan split the rest of the ammo. Emily tensed and shouldered a long, silver Vladof assault rifle with incendiary rounds. She looked back to the others and nodded. Aaron drew his shotgun, and Jenna shifted to the back of the team, drawing a sleek copper-brown sniper rifle. Spencer slunk behind her, eyes wide.

They had come to a clearing where the tall glaciers had formed an overhang, lending the sensation that they were walking into an ice amphitheater. Close to twelve bullymong nests rested in the glacier’s cliffs, and rusted bandit technicals were stacked high in the center, forming what looked like a partition in the center of the theater's stage. Dozens of the yellow ammo chests were strewn across the base of the stage. Frozen piles of refuse dotted with bones and debris suggested a large omnivore that had a variety of prey ruled the area. Spencer gulped loudly and gripped his bladed Jakobs pistol in his hand.

A delivery freight car had been flipped on its side and was leaning semi-vertically along the front edge of the stage, making for a sheltered ramp up the glacier. After clearing the immediate area, the five clamored up the car’s interior and found themselves on the frozen platform. A snarl filled the air, and gasps of horror came from behind Hotch as the tremendous bullymong emerged from one of the ice holes near the top of the glacier. It swung itself over and down, landing feet from Emily and Morgan. With a roar of rage, the beast reared up on its hind legs and seized a technical off the stack, raising the vehicle over its head.

Jenna and Spencer had taken cover behind the top edging of the freight car. Aqua eyes glared through the sights of her Vladof Lyuda sniper rifle, and Jenna fired a critical shot at the bullymong’s skull. It sang out with a sparking _CRACK_ and flames began to light across its face, then spread across its body. The bullet had struck between the eyes, but Jenna’s incendiary rounds and siren powers amplified the flame's damage. Howling in pain, the beast hurled the technical through the air.

“INCOMING!” They scattered as the empty bandit vehicle crashed and exploded where they had been standing moments before.

“STAY PUT!” Emily lifted her arm and harnessed her Phaselock ability, lifting the bullymong off the ground into the air while the flames continued to burn and her chartreuse acid clouds hovered over it, wreaking havoc on the creature. The momentary relief of immobilizing their target gave the rest of the team their opportunity. Hotch hurled his shield and it soared true, slamming into it's neck. Morgan had dropped his turret near Jenna and Reid, giving them cover while he tore into the monster with his assault rifle, bullets flying. Jenna’s critical headshots continued with a rhythmic _CRACK CRACK CRACK_. Spencer had come out from behind her and had launched a few grenades. As the beast fell limp to the ground, he ran towards the base of the technicals, where a number of random shiny metal parts were dropped.

“Found it!” He grinned as he looked it over. It was still in one piece, and despite the severing of a few cables, it was easy enough work for an experienced mechanic to fix. His hazel eyes brightened as he pulled out half a dozen echonet portable radio batteries. They were all still sealed and usable. “Guys, come get these! Ours are drained, but these all are working! We can try to reach P3N310P3. Come on!” His brain was whirring. “Guys, we aren't that far from Liar's Berg. If we keep going around this way-” he gestured rapidly to the semi-open path- “I bet my friend Sir Rossi can fix my arm! He can probably get us more detailed information about what's going on about Handsome Jack, too.” Morgan nodded and them others shared glances. They had remembered what Reid had told them earlier.

*

Dave had packed most of his belongings to be shipped out at a later date to his turbo mansion. The rest he had secured in two suitcases should the vault hunters actually find him. His temporary home was right in the center of Liar's Berg, but with that announcement over the echonet radio, he know he wouldn't be alone for long. Fortunately, he was prepared.

He adjusted his right arm, tightening the screws in the wrist and squeezed his palm a few times. The flexing of his mechanical joints in the morning always hurt, and Dave had run out of the good oil weeks ago. Opening his larger safe, he pulled out his Bearcat and Sawbar.

The gun manufacturers had collaborated on a weapon rarity system years ago. Every weapon had a small tag on its side denoting its rarity. The phrase to remember it was simple: “When Grandma Burps, Patrick Obeys.” White, green, blue, purple, and orange were the colors of the rarity scale, and Dave's weapons were all above those. More rare than orange-label weapons were pearlescents, noted by tags of shiny cyan. Dave’s Bearcat was a beautiful grenader that shot out dozens of delay-reaction grenades, forming carpets of explosive flames for his enemies to deal with. The Sawbar was another AR that shot out explosive flaming bullets at a high rate with an incredibly large magazine. He shouldered the Sawbar to face the entrance. If the vault hunters were going to kick in his door and assume he was a fucking bandit, they were in for a nasty, and deadly, surprise.

“Come out and play, jagoffs.”

*

“Good call, kid. And honestly, if he knows about this Sanctuary place, that's really the best place for us to rest and take the next step.”

“Hotch, what _is_ our next step? I know we were brought together to open a vault for Jack, but now that this guy wants us dead, I’m all for putting a few rounds in his skull.” Hotch met Jenna's eyes and nodded.

“If Rossi can get us to Sanctuary, we can speak to the citizens there and get the intel we need. There's a lot of things we don't know right now, and repairing Reid's arm and getting some rest are priority one. Let's go. Reid, lead the way.” Spencer grinned and led the team, Jenna and Morgan armed and ready at either side. There hadn't been more bullymongs when they'd fought what was clearly the leader, and their eyes were watchful. Hotch and Emily ran in back, a few crows flying ahead to scout. As they got closer to a wide ledge, a crackle came over the echonet.

“Attention, people of Pandora! Handsome Jack here, offering a million bucks to whoever brings me the heads of the vault hunters who just arrived in Liar’s Berg, being led by their _fearless leader_ , Aaron Hotchner. Oh, and I’m still offering a reward for Gina Sharp, the mass-murdering leader of the Crimson Raiders. Good hunting, bandits!” Reid's eyes were full of horror, and he looked at his teammates whose own faces mirrored his own. Only Hotch fixed his glare and growled, masking the weight of rage and apprehension he felt. _Who the fuck does this Handsome Jack guy think he is?!_ A second voice came over the echonet, and they bristled.

“A million bucks?! Alright, boys -- this is Captain Flynt! I want you to find those vault hunters and bring ‘em to me! NOW!” Morgan's eyebrows shot up and he locked eyes with Hotch.

“Looks like we’re not alone.”

“Or won’t be for long.” He gripped his shield tightly; no one threatened his team like that. _We have to get the hell out of here and fast._ He heard a caw in the distance, and saw Emily put away her AR and go for her SMG.

“What do you see ahead, Prentiss?” He called to the other three to slow down as the came to a low ledge.

“The snow breaks into a ramp down to Liar's Berg. There's a few houses and shops down there but I can't make out any townspeople. One of the houses has a wire gate in front of it, it looks like it might be electrified. That's probably where Sir Rossi is at; it seems like the safest place logistically. There's bandits to the east, near the town’s cemetery. There's a footbridge to the cemetery, but no vehicles.”

“That's not surprising. Driving a technical is difficult on the Southern Shelf. The ice breakup and open water, the glaciers and cliffs, it's amazing there aren't more accidents. Last year alone, almost 472 bandits and 35-” Hotch lifted his hand and shot a warning glance over to stop Reid.

“Enough. It looks like we can’t just walk right in, there's a recycled metal gate down by the town's entrance. It should be easy enough to disable. Reid, Morgan, you two take on the gate. It's steep, so be careful coming down and watch your step. JJ, you stay up here and be our eyes while we come down.” She nodded, shouldering the Lyuda. The rifle’s dark copper body and brass trim shone in the fading afternoon light, and she positioned herself where she could keep a watchful eye on the team. Reid smiled up at her as he carefully navigated the icy descent, and she shot him a small smile of her own.

He was a good kid, and she couldn't help but be a little less rough around him. He was stronger than he appeared. As he made his way down, Jenna saw Hotch take his hand and help him down the ledge safely. She held her breath- it looked more intimate than it should have been, and she looked through her scope to check the other team members’ reactions. Morgan’s eyes had lit up for only a second, and she knew only she had seen it. She chuckled softly. There would have to be some further investigation when things were less chaotic. Her attention moved back to Emily. She had drawn her SMG closer and was carefully alternating eyes from the team to the front.

“Guys, there's some movement, it looks like… fuck! Bandits saw us! JENNA!”

“Got your back, Emma.” The blonde hadn't taken her eyes off the bandits as they approached, and with a calm _CRACK CRACK CRACK_ she struck several of the marauders between the eyes. Emily's SMG depleted the shields, making them easy targets to take down. Hotch’s shield was ricocheting off four bandits at a time, helping the team line up their shots. Reid took cover behind Morgan's turret, and the dark agent pulled out his shotgun to help weaken their foes. As he did so, a familiar and terrifying voice came over the echonet.

“Got a proposition for ya, Hotchner. You give up, we’ll just shoot ya in the head. It’ll be quick, clean, and a hell of a lot less painful than what Handsome Jack’ll do to ya.” Aaron’s eyes burned with rage.

“Not a chance, Flynt.”

“SHIT! BULLYMONGS!” The sound of wounded bandits had brought a small pack of hungry and aggressive bullymongs out of their caves by the cemetery. The angle the team had been at had kept them hidden, but as they swarmed the bandits, Reid hurled a few grenades and Hotch and Morgan ran forward, Emily covering Reid, her black wings outstretched and raised as the acid clouds hovered over the town of Liar's Berg.

“What is _WRONG_ with you boys?! Just kill those skaglicks so’s we can get our reward!” Hotch couldn't hold back a laugh; the assassin in him couldn't wait to fully wreck this Captain Flynt’s day.

*

Dave had been about ready to start capping a few bandits in the ass himself when he saw how well the vault hunters had tore into them, but quickly said a prayer and backed away from his windows when he saw the bullymongs throwing the bandits about like rag dolls. Two or three adult bullymongs? He could hold his own. He was unlucky, not cowardly. Ten adults and a bunch of bandits? He could definitely wait, thank you. He ran his hands over the Sawbar and made sure for the hundredth time the polished high-gloss crimson red assault rifle was fully loaded before closing his eyes and praying he’d make it to see the next morning.

*

Jenna and Morgan had made quick work of the bandits. The bullymongs had helped weaken them, and with a signal from Emily, the rhythmic _CRACK CRACK CRACK_ had put critical shots in each of the ten beasts. Running down the icy slope with ease and switching to her Heartbreaker, the smaller woman had unleashed her siren powers in tandem with Emma. The clouds were still doing constant damage to the frustrated beasts, but the blonde emptied her shotgun’s incendiary rounds rapid-fire into their faces while the brunette took the closest one, seized it with her Phaselock, and held it up for Morgan and Reid to focus on. Meanwhile, Hotch whirled and darted between the others, staying out of the way of JJ’s attacks while using his shield defensively as his digistructing katana sliced gracefully into his opponents. At last, there was silence, until a final bellow of rage came over the echonet.

“DAMMIT! This ain’t over, grinder. _Not by a long shot._ ”

***

They had made it through the fight relatively unharmed with few injuries, but Emily healed them anyway, looking each of her teammates over. After searching the bandit corpses for cash and ammo, they began to actually take in the town. Liar’s Berg was a nice little town, elevated on the shelf and surrounded by natural and man-made ice walls. Snow bricks dotted the western side, giving bullymongs a little something extra to make them work for their meals should they attack. Healing & ammo vending machines were in the town’s center, but the power was off. There appeared to have been some sort of restaurant, and a meat market/grocery store. It was all past tense. The signs were cracked and peeling from bullets and turmoil.

“This place is a ghost town, Reid. It looks like it's been abandoned for a little while.” Emily shot a sympathetic glance at the young man, not wanting to say what they were thinking.

“The snow hides the ability to see if any of the graves out there in the cemetery are fresh, but I agree. Sir Rossi is extremely educated and experienced though, I just can't believe… I know he’s made it. He…” Reid swallowed the lump in his throat and raced towards the one building with the electric gate in front of it.

“HEY SIR ROSSI!” Hands cupped around his mouth, Reid hollered at the top of his lungs. His eyes were bright with hope, and that hope was rewarded when a gruff voice called back to him.

“Quit yelling! There's no goddamn fire!” The door to an iced-over building, about the size of a small home, opened and an older man in a faded pair of forest green wool pants and a heavy green and black plaid wool coat trudged out. He wore a thick black leather glove on his left hand and a worn black boot on his left foot. His right hand and foot were mechanical, and leather buckled straps above the elbow and knee confirmed the extent of limbs lost. The short man with a goatee growled, and a few of the team took in sharp breaths, recognizing just what the Sawbar was. _Holy shit, that's a… holy shit. Holy. Shit._

“Hey, Sir Rossi! Since our team just saved your town, you wanna do me a favor and repair my arm?” He waved his arm in a “hello” fashion. Aaron groaned as Dave flipped them off.

“Spencer, we didn't _save_ his town if everyone but him is _dead_. Calm your tits down,” Jenna hissed. Morgan smirked but nodded with her.

“Hmmm... Yes, I suppose I am in your debt now, aren’t I? Ugh. Come to my shack, and I’ll restore Doctor Reid’s arm. First, let me shut off the electrical fence for you.” Dave puttered over to the controls and fiddled with them, then made a _come here_ nod of his head. “Please stay back– let Doctor Reid go first.” Spencer was ecstatic. He ran forward with all the grace of an aging constructor bot rattling its way over a flight of stairs.

“Sir, it's an honor to finally meet you! I was hoping later we could talk about the physics of the wormhole threshers and theee _eeEIEIEIOWWWW!_ ” As Spencer shook against the clearly _not_ deactivated electric fence, Jenna drew her gun and Hotch tensed. The young man crumpled unconscious to the ground like a sack of potatoes, and Dave shut off the fence, grabbed his repair kit, adjusted the limp form with almost father-like care, and then knelt and began working on repairing the arm. He shot an unreadable gaze at the four others who by now had come forward to where Reid lay.

“Apologies, but when Doctor Reid speaks, I feel my brain cells committing suicide, one by one. Trust me, this is easier.” Emily slipped her arms under Spencer's head and stroked his hair while Jenna holstered her gun and knelt. Dave’s eyes lifted curiously at the brunette and her striking wings, but continued to speak as he worked deftly on his task.

“I came out here to research bullymongs for my almanac, but Captain Flynt’s men trapped me on this glacier. Many thanks for disposing of them, by the way -- to survive a direct run-in with Handsome Jack AND defeat Captain Flynt’s bandits? Unheard of! I’m headed to Sanctuary, myself -- from what I hear, the Crimson Raiders there could use a pack of heroes like you.” He paused and readied his torch and wrenches.

“Now, if you could hand me the good doctor’s arm, please.” Morgan passed him the limp metal arm, and Dave went to work, whistling a light tune and taking care with each adjustment. He looked up and grinned wickedly at Hotch.

“Much as I’m sure you'd _love_ to shove his arm where it _should_ go, this does call for more practiced hands. Now, I need only connect this to this, and… that should do it!” As he packed the mechanic tools back into the suitcase, Reid uttered a weak moan. His head rolled side to side and his large eyes blinked painfully as he tried to sit up. He was startled to find Emma’s hands on him, helping him up and speaking softly to him. He was even more startled when both his arms helped support himself upright.

“Sir Rossi, you-”

“Drop the ‘sir’ or I break off your arm and use it as a goddamn bottle opener.” Jenna and Spencer’s faces were twin looks of horror. Dave realized uncomfortably that the kid couldn't really take jokes, added a hasty, “I’m kidding, shit, I’d use it as a doorstop, not a bottle opener. It's great to meet you, kid. Glad I've got you back in one piece.” Reid managed a smile and nodded, and Hotch cleared his throat.

“Aaron Hotchner, team leader.” At seeing Dave's gaze to his shield, he added, “former Atlas assassin.” Motioning behind him, he introduced the others.

“Derek Morgan, former Dahl commando. Our crowd control with a turret. Jennifer Jareau, please call her Jenna or JJ, our sniper who doubles as a healer. Emily Prentiss,” he motioned to his left front where she was helping brush snow off Reid, “our siren and elemental damage expert. And if course, Spencer Reid-”

“ _-Doctor_ Reid-”

“-yes, _Doctor_ Reid, our mechromancer, who you already know and who mentioned you were trying to get to somewhere called Sanctuary.” The look Hotch shot at Dave would have silenced most men, but Dave wouldn't be intimidated, and he had a feeling of respect for Aaron Hotchner already. It took balls, and clearly a fucking shield, to stand up to Captain Flynt’s bandits. He wouldn't let the man overlook Spencer's achievement, though.

“I see our fearless leader Jack is looking for you all. Charming fellow, isn’t he? Spouts drivel about bringing peace to the frontier, then shoots unarmed men, women and children like it was going out of style. Urgh – I’m spouting exposition again, aren’t I? Apologies.” Dave grunted as he shouldered his bags and nodded towards his shelter. “Let's talk.”

*

His five guests were grateful for shared rations and a safe place to sleep. Between robots, an explosion, the cold, bullymongs, bandits, and now this Captain Flynt asshole, they were exhausted. Dave was more than willing to share his small space with them. _Hell, they'll keep me alive_. He was also quite fucking delighted to have company. Dave loved to entertain, and while this was neither the time nor the place he’d pictured doing so, he had offered them some of his better wines and they'd shared amusing battle stories. Aaron, it turned out, had a dry sense of humor. Jenna had amused them with graphic renditions of her bandit killing and Emily had some hilarious drunken tales about the Zafords. Dave pretended not to be calculating what the odds were that she was single, or memorizing the way her eyes lit up and the sound of her laugh. Her wings had since retracted, and he had been sorely disappointed to see them go. Handsome Jack would never let a siren get out of his sight for long, but David Rossi would battle the fucker to the bowels of Pandora if he laid a hand on Emily Prentiss. Realizing he’d been silent too long, though the others took it for him just being polite, Dave switched topics.

“So you fought Knuckle Dragger and lived? Impressive. That beast was quite a foe, but useful. I enjoyed him keeping the bandits away, but he was quite a bastard. He had a penchant for all things _glistening_ and _shiny!_ ” Dave changed his voice and waved his hands as he spoke, causing laughter and smiles from his new companions. “Worse than a damn _crow_!” Emily had frowned at that, but let it go  & drank more wine. Dave pretended he didn't notice, but filed it away for later.

“Rossi, he threw a technical at us!” Morgan's hands gestured the size and action, and Spencer nearly choked on his drink.

“ _Did_ he now? He did shit like that a lot. Classic alpha male.” Dave got thoughtful for a moment and took out a map. Spencer nearly curled up on it, but Dave shot him a _so help me if you get any closer I’ll take that arm and_ look that had Reid make a squeak and stayed put. Aaron couldn't help but enjoy their dynamic. Reid tried not to stare at his leader’s dimpled face, but Dave caught that and held it close as well. _Oh, this is really good._

“Your best route will be to go east from here along the Southern Shelf until you cross this bridge, here. There's a pair of brothers called Boom Bewm that, as you may have guessed, like shit that goes ‘boom’ a lot. From there, get to the Snowbound Crossroads and you should be able to get past the gate. Of course, you'll have to cross the water to get from Southern Shelf to there. Fortunately for you, I have a ship.” He paused and took a drink. “Unfortunately, Captain Flynt and close to a hundred bandits stand between us and that ship.” Dave was only slightly disturbed by the glances that flashed across the team in front of him, and Jenna flashed him a winning smile.

“So, twenty for each of us? Easy peasey. We’ve got plenty of ammo, and they're spread out.” Dave folded the map up and shook his head. He wasn’t going to miss this for the world. _Not a chance._

“Little less than that. I’m coming with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few are almost done. I couldn't get Penelope where I wanted her this time; she'll be coming back very soon. 
> 
> My job ended unexpectedly last Monday, so it took me a while to get out of my own head. As always, thank you for your support, and I hope you continue to enjoy the team's journey.


	11. Interlude 2 - Penelope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introspective Penelope.

***12***  
Penelope had screamed when the explosion had sent her vault hunters flying. Not his. _Hers._

They needed to get to Sanctuary, somewhere safe from Jack.

Nowhere was safe from Jack. She knew that firsthand.

There was a file she kept locked from him, in an innocuous place on the server. It had photos of cute outfits, butterflies and fairies, and women's hair dyed in outrageous colors. It would never happen, could never happen, but hope was a powerful thing and she clung to it. Besides her vault hunters, it was all she had.

Their echonet radios had died after they had made it to the old safehouse on Windshear Waste. She had worried about them, hoped and prayed they'd survive, fretted and feared, and when the radios had come back online she had used every ounce of self control in her mainframe to not cry out to them. They couldn't be distracted, they were getting so close to the bandits and they had to survive, they just _had to._ She waited for them to recover over the next week, and when they strode out of Liar’s Berg with their bodies rested and guns drawn, she contacted them again. Glee filled her at Derek Morgan's shameless flirting, and she teased Reid a little as well, enjoying his flustered blushes as he struggled to ask her more about her AI specs. She continued to dodge those. _Soon enough._

They were like her babies, and she loved them. She willed them to get to Sanctuary safely, and after that, no matter what, she would will them to get through the pure hell Jack had in store for them alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will have us moving through the Southern Shelf, facing a few baddies, and (sort of) meeting Gina.


	12. Wreck of The Ice Sickle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team prepares to tackle Captain Flynt. Dave potentially ruins hot beverages forever for Hotch. Poker, ponies, and bandits.
> 
> Before they can get to Flynt, The Wreck of the Ice Sickle is in the way. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own.

The next seven days went by quickly.

Mornings were target practice. After a breakfast of bullymong stew courtesy of “Master Chefs Hotchner and Rossi,” Jenna and Hotch set up targets around the walls and cemetery of the little town. At first, the targets were bullseyes smeared with bullymong blood on the snow and on debris. As the days progressed, mailboxes, Dave’s empty alcohol bottles, and smaller assorted targets were chosen. Jenna was an expert marksman, and proved an excellent instructor for Emily and Spencer. On occasion, Morgan and Hotch would take a few shots of their own. As an elementalist, Emma had used “spray and pray” shooting techniques for the most part with her SMGs and ARs. Reid had also developed an increased fondness for the SMGS, but his aim with pistols was atrocious. At one point, Hotch had taken Jenna aside and questioned how the hell the kid had survived on his own this long.

“You don’t need a specific KIND of gun to be a vault hunter,” she had whispered. 

***

Emily had stopped target practice on day four, spending time trying to get a better view of their enemies. Her ability to summon crows was a lifesaver since there was only so much a sniper scope could do, but she had to make it look like the murder had flown over to the bandit hideouts naturally. A few crows had taken flight over the Ripper Clan’s camps only to be shot down and eaten. On day five, she had sent a few more out cautiously, letting them take a different path far from gun fire. Those had also been killed, but this time by something far more powerful than a normal gun. That evening as she trudged up the hill with her silver AR and a cloud of irritation over her mind, she had an idea of what the thing was that took out her birds. To keep the team alive, she had to be certain. She needed to get a different view, and more crows.

That night, she stayed up a bit later. They had been taking rotating shifts in pairs standing guard, even though the bandits didn't seem to give a rat's ass about their existence. She had come out to relieve the current pair, and saw Jenna and Spencer playing cards. Poker, specifically. Rusted screws and nails were apparently the alternative to chips, and in the center of the wooden ammo crate that was their card table lay a pressed piece of plant matter and a bag of gummy cinnamon bears. 

“I was always more of an anise bear fan, myself.” The pair smiled up at her, and she pulled up a chunk of log to sit on.

“Deal me in? What’s the plant?” Reid began to answer, but Jenna flipped him the bird and shut him down.

“It’s a blazingstar, native to my home in Lynchwood. I had a guy I had to shoot dead and it grew on his grave. He was a real jerkbag so I pulled the flower.” Emily’s eyebrows shot up and she turned to Reid, who looked equally disturbed.

“That’s… wow JJ, that’s really dark. Uhm. Maybe we shouldn’t wager that. You know what? I fold. I definitely do not want to win a death flower.” Reid was frowning and pushing away his cards.

“It’s not a _death flower,_ it’s just a… okay. Yes, it is a death flower. I thought it was kind of... pretty.” They smirked while the blonde stood up and stretched.

“I’m going to call it a night, and I’ll take my death flower and my candy, Spence.” She shot a teasing look at Spencer, rumpled Emily’s long hair, and made her way back to the house. They chuckled as she faded from view. 

“It was technically _mentzelia laevicaulis_ , more commonly known as the giant blazingstar.” Reid went to work on shuffling the cards, and dealt quickly. Conversation was light; Jenna had broken through some of the young man’s walls with the big sister act, but Emily had just been herself around him and had stuck to job-related discussions only. The small talk faded, and as they both played in comfortable semi-silence, Spencer spoke up.

“So, are you going back to the Highlands after the job is done?” His voice sounded almost faint, and she sent him an earnest look.

“I don’t think so. I’m not really sure. I loved it there, but I spent so much of my life in that one spot. It’s surrounded by love and loss to me, long story, but I would like to find something new for me. I’m hoping Sanctuary will give me a fresh start.” She pushed in a few screws and saw Reid watching her carefully. Taking a chance on a hunch, she placed a worn and faded blue item made from paper on the table and continued. “I’m throwing in my origami swan, and yes, I would be welcome back at the Highlands, but even though there were so many kind people there, I felt alone. I think the slate being wiped clean will make things less lonely.” She hadn’t looked at Reid when she had been talking, but her eyes lifted as his dropped, and she saw the insecurity in him. 

“If you don’t have any reason to go back to Crisis Scar, you should stay on Pandora, too. When we get to Sanctuary, I bet there will be folks who can show you local communications facilities and places that might be more you. Plus, it’d be nice to have a friendly face for me to beat at poker.” Spencer’s cheeks flushed and he couldn’t hide a smile.

“I’ve always enjoyed people from a distance. I know I’m a bit out of my element when we aren’t fighting, but… you and JJ are nice. You know, she calls me ‘Spence.’ She wants me to come meet her husband and her son when the job is done. She’s nicer than she projects.”

“She’s a short, skinny blonde on Pandora. If she didn’t come across a little abrasive, she’d never survive. She was thriving as a sheriff. I do agree though, she’s softer than she lets on.” Emily pushed in some more screws and some pistol ammo. “Don’t tell her I said that.” He chuckled, pushing ahead a few screws from his pile and putting down a weathered black leather bookmark with fringe.

“You know, if you do like playing with gears, I know there’s a Callahan Auto in a stretch of desert near the Highlands. They build technicals, do repairs, all sorts of mech work. If you need good-quality scrap, they’re the place. A cute, petite doe-eyed girl works there. When things calm down, you should go out there and see what you can do.” She pushed in a few screws and added a small blue bead with gold flecks in it to the pile. “She’s single, I think.”

“Yeah, I’ll see if she has any work I can do for her. The mechanic in Concordia- that’s the main city of Elpis- she’s a bit eccentric for my tastes. Means well, but she’s too much for me to handle. I did a few jobs for her and almost got my head blown off.” More of his rusted screws were pushed forward, as well as some SMG ammo. It wasn’t lost on Emily that Reid had made no comment about the female mechanic. Feeling a little bolder, she tried something else.

“If you prefer red-heads, there’s some cute Irish girls that frequent the Holy Spirits down from where I lived. Ample booze, ample bosoms.” Spencer let that comment go by him as well and played his full house, soundly beating Emily Prentiss. She smiled, and chuckled at the way he examined the bead. His eyebrows crinkled comically despite the focused look on his face. It was tear-shaped and about the size of his thumbnail, but he inspected the tiny treasure as though it was a miracle. 

“Lapis?”

“Yeah, I had an old set of earrings. Nothing too fancy, but I wore them so much that they eventually broke apart. I couldn’t tell you where the other bead went. They weren’t anything special but they went with everything.” He nodded, tucking it carefully into his shirt pocket. She began to shuffle the cards this time, deciding to drop the previous topic he had left alone, and dealt them each seven cards. Holding the deck up to his face, she grinned and he tilted his head, trying to read her.

“You play a mean game of poker, Doctor Reid, but how good are you at rummy?” He slowly let a wide smile play across his face and looked at his hand. His hazel eyes sparkled dangerously when he let them meet her brown ones, and her grin faded.

“You know,” he began, “The intense blue color of lapis lazuli is due to the presence of the trisulfur radical anion in the crystal. An electronic excitation of one electron from the highest doubly filled molecular orbital…”  
He beat her soundly for the next few hours. 

***

The Southern Shelf was, in fact, just that. At the bottom of Pandora, the ocean was framed with a frozen coast that Hotch looked down on from the perch Dave had made use of in Liar’s Berg. The impromptu lookout station, like the gate to enter the town, was made of whatever scrap the former inhabitants had come across that had washed upon the glistening shore. An electric switch lowered or lifted the gate out of the town. It was day six, and Dave was playing cards with him as they drank tea (Dave’s had some of Hotch’s favorite scotch mixed in it) and they traded a few war stories between sips and reviewing the notes Emily had made. They were watching Spencer and the others from afar, the doctor pinning their larger map up on the town’s bounty board, allowing the team to see the route they'd be taking. As he spoke and moved his hands frantically in animated gestures the other vault hunters had become used to over the last several days, Hotch let his eyes do a fast once-over of the younger man and pushed his pile of rusted screws towards Dave, who quirked an eyebrow at Aaron but let the younger man speak.

“All in on this one.” Dave chuckled softly and made his play, eyes going back up to his new friend. 

“No kidding. You really are a pillar of strength.” Having lost, Dave shuffled and dealt them both back in. He hummed a gentle tune while Hotch shot a quick glance at Spencer's posterior and finished his tea, face still expressionless, and Dave began to plot, because Aaron Hotchner was not being as subtle as he imagined. After three turns each, Dave agreed being subtle was for pussies. He had put on a pot of coffee a while ago, and poured himself a large mug. _We bait the hook…_

“Aaron, do you like coffee?” Hotch was thrown by the use of his given name, but nodded. Dave didn’t wait for a verbal answer or the _why_ he was sure had been on the tip of Hotch’s tongue. “They say coffee is a lot like women. I like mine strong, bold, and with extra-large cups.” He winked with a Cheshire-cat grin and offered Hotch a heaping mug of the tar-colored brew, which the man quickly poured two creams in and began to stir. Despite himself, Hotch had lightened a little at the cups joke, and had bit back a smile. Dave took in a large gulp of the brew, and waited for the other man to do so as well. Once Hotch had savored a few gulps of his own, Dave looked over in Spencer’s direction. _Time to set the hook._

“I’m glad to see you like your coffee like you like your women. A little light but bitter. _You also like tea._ ” He could imagine the man's face, and could practically feel the tension rolling off him. 

“You know, you _could_ just ask and I could lock you two in my place for an hour to get your kum-ba-yah-yah’s out. Shit, if you're kinky, I’m sure the kid could digistruct a flogger or paddles-”

“-Dave-”

“-or, you know, if you think he's a screamer… you know what, I'll bet he’s a _fantastic_ screamer, I bet you could gag him with your scarf and-”

“ _DAVE._ ” Aaron shot a glare at his friend while Dave put his hands in the air and shrugged, his face full of feigned innocence.

“Just saying.” After Aaron played his cards, he turned his gaze back to Dave and spoke at a volume Dave almost had to strain to hear.

“Haley returned my calls two nights ago. Told me she miscarried. Told me she was done with me, with us.” He shifted uneasily and poured more tea, adding some scotch. “I know better than to try to fuck a team member, especially one much younger than me. Especially with Handsome Jack on our asses. We have enough to worry about right now, and there isn't anything between Spencer and me.” _Reel him in._

“First of all, the kid looks at you so intently when you aren’t paying attention that you’d think he was staring into another dimension. I’ve seen your glances. You were talking in your sleep the other night when you drifted off on watch duty. JJ gave me a dirty look when I went to relieve you. Secondly, he’s single and now so are you.” Hotch shot Dave another look and went to speak, but the older man cut him off with a wave of his metal arm. “I am sorry for your loss. I really am, Aaron. I’m not trying to take away from the grief you feel. But the fact is all six of us could be face down in the snow dead in our own blood and feces tomorrow, and while I don't want you to hurt that kid, you both deserve to be happy. As happy as you can be with some narcissistic psychopath trying to kill you and ruin this planet.” The two men held each other's gazes for a while until Dave topped off Hotch’s mug.

“More tea?”

*

Emily had tried to get better aerial views, but needed to see what she could with her own eyes. Dave had lifted the gate while she carefully made her way with Morgan down the path to the edge of the shore. From a few yards was a bandit camp that spread over a makeshift bridge and down into a drop that wasn’t terribly visible to the eye. As she counted the bandits through her binoculars, there were only three in the first section of the camp. Training her eyes and adjusting her post, she counted another eight at the bridge. Flags hung on each side of the bridge, deep sea blue with creases of worn white. A black outline of an anchor with the head of a dragon announced Captain Flynt’s presence. Derek let loose his turret, and while the shots were too far away to do damage, it got the bandits’ attention. As they hurled threats, Emma directed the crows to come from the opposite direction. Closing her eyes, she took in their intel and mentally thanked them, their joyful chorus tearing through the skies.

“I’ve seen enough, Derek. Let's head back.”

*

Back at Liar’s Berg, day six was going like any other. Stew for breakfast, target practice, rations for lunch, and then melee practice. Spencer did stretches and practiced his melee attacks on some makeshift wooden dummies. He was restless. The map had been a distraction, but he needed action. Frustrated, the young man slid down the ravine under the town’s footbridge. Young bullymongs would occasionally congregate there to feed and build dens, but they never bothered the team. The primary reason for this was that the younger ones seemed fairly docile as they were hidden from the bustle of the humans above them. The secondary was that Aaron Hotchner didn’t give them a chance to become pests. Today, however, he wouldn't be running solo. Sliding down the embankment with ease, Hotch hurled the Aspis at them to attack, but he was startled when a flash of steel and hazel tones flew by him. Reid drew his bladed Jakobs pistol, and Aaron watched in awe as the man twirled and dashed with ease, slicing into the bullymongs. Hotch threw the shield and ran side-by-side, smiling as the two of them tag-teamed and cleared the area. 

“Spar with me.” Hotch was smiling, and Spencer wasn’t entirely sure how to take that.

“What?”

“You’re bored, and it shows. Spar with me. I know Deathtrap does most of the damage for you, but you clearly enjoy melee practice and it’s obvious that you need more than scrap wood to be your challenger. Give me your best.” Spencer was uneasy at first, wondering if Hotch was making fun of him. Then he dashed at the older man with a dazzling grin and attacked. Aaron cracked a smile as well, but stayed focused as the digistructed claws came out and landed on his shield once, twice, thrice, rapid succession strikes. Reid rolled to attempt a blow at Hotch’s legs, but the man read the move and shifted, throwing the shield. Reid barely dodged, a look of surprise and then of _challenge accepted_ in his eyes. He zigzagged and then struck at Hotch, who fought back with strong blocking and a digistructed katana. When the shield circled back, Reid ducked and went for Hotch’s legs again, now exposed. They two leapt apart, smiling.

“Not bad, Doctor Reid. Not bad at all.” _He’s confident when he can be a melee fighter and hide behind those claws._

They continued sparring until both were worn out and sweat-soaked. Spencer felt like he was high; the adrenaline rush coupled with watching Hotch fight was doing things to him. He bit his lip as the older man adjusted his armor and shouldered his shield, giving Reid a fantastic view of his well-toned lower body. For his age, Aaron was in great shape, and the slender man took in every detail. The lines of his torso. The strength in his shoulders. The curve of his… Reid’s mouth was suddenly dry, and he fought back the warmth in his core that wasn’t due to the sparring. He holstered the pistol carefully and tried not to continue ogling the man in front of him. 

“Ready to check in with Morgan and Emily?” 

“Ready.” The two walked in comfortable silence up the embankment, Aaron’s mind on the bandit camps awaiting them and Spencer’s on Aaron.

He had been close with others before. A young woman selling scrap parts and a tall young man who was surveying Stanton’s Liver and just happened into Crisis Scar had both made their way to his bed, the woman once but the man a few times before he eventually left. They had enjoyed soft kisses and wild sex, the loveless but intense eroticism that being lonely, horny, and young brought. Spencer had learned a bit of makeshift bondage, and found that the mech in him loved building and experimenting with restraints and toys. There was a part of him that wanted Hotch and wanted him badly, wanted to kiss those usually emotionless lips, wanted to make the man come undone in his hands, wanted to see what Hotch would look like on his knees, compliant and submissive while in restraints, but Spencer shook his head and brought himself back to reality. Thoughts like that would get him killed if he indulged them; there was no way an ex-Atlas assassin was going to not be straight. _Besides, we have worse things to worry about._

*

At last, Derek and Emily made their way back with some freshly caught fish for their supper, and the intel they had spent most of their week trying to confirm. Once everyone was seated, Emily unfurled the updated map.

“We thought there were two bandit camps- the Rippers and then Flynt. It looks like it’s a symbiotic relationship. There’s only about five or six bandits left in the camp directly before the Wreck of the Ice Sickle, which is the piece of Flynt’s ship that broke off a long time ago in the flash freeze and the Ripper Clan’s base. The first mate of the ship is called 'Boom Bewm,’ which is actually a pair of brothers. Part of that wreck is a cannon the bandits call ‘Big Bertha,’ and it _is_ big. My crows had a bitch of a time getting around it without dying. Here’s the thing: we have to go through the camp here, then cross a small footbridge here. We can’t get under or around it because of the way the glaciers are set, so we can’t sneak up on them. There’s a drop from the bridge to the base of the wreck, and a barrier was put up around that drop, so it’s going to be like jumping down a chute. It’s not an actual chute, mind you, but more like a short drop we won’t be able to climb up again. When we land, that cannon is going to be aimed right at us and there’s close to 25-30 bandits and psychos running around. Reid, you and Hotch are going to have to take care of those bastards with nonstop melee because we need a distraction, and that distraction is Derek and I, who will distract the Rippers and the cannon. If we can hold their attention and assault them with corrosive weapons and grenades, it will give Jenna time to run back here, and if she can do so in time, with no bandits trying to stab her, she can take out Bertha with the sniper. Jenna, _please_ tell me you have a corrosive sniper rifle.” Five pairs of eyes focused on Jenna, who blushed briefly and nodded.

“I have a Vladof Moloko. It uses twice as much ammo as my Lyuda but it is exceptionally effective, especially for something like a bigass cannon. I’m going to make that Bertha my bitch.” They chuckled, and Jenna pulled out a gleaming silver-toned sniper rifle. It was exquisite, and Reid’s eyebrows shot up. Dave whistled in appreciation.

“If I run here and throw some grenades here when we touch down, I think we can do it. That’ll let me draw the bandits out to me to give you the cover. I can handle them; I have Deathtrap, but Morgan and Emily, you guys will need to distract and focus on taking out the two Ripper twins. If they use grenade-based attacks like Dave thought, that’s going to put all of us in danger.” Spencer was leaning over the map and making circles with a pencil. As Prentiss and Dave discussed grenade strategy, Hotch’s phone buzzed and he frowned, a wave of cold washing over him.

Derek tore into a second fish, the roasted meat savory with herbs and salt from Dave's stash. He was confident with their combined experience they could take the Ripper Clan down, but was distracted by a pair of blue eyes boring into his. Without moving her head, Jenna’s eyes shifted left to Hotch, who was staring at his phone. He took it out, flipped it open and appeared to be checking something, then closed it. Jenna's eyes went back to Morgan's for a second, then shot to Spencer. He took in the younger man’s carefully timed but numerous glances at Hotch, and his eyes went back to Jenna's. She had a faint hint of a smile on her face, and Morgan gave her a _got it_ look.

***

The next morning saw Jenna perched on the top of the ice-block wall facing out towards the first small bandit camp. From where she stood, she didn't have clear shots of the camps. Leaping down and shoulding the brass-embellished sniper rifle, she walked over to where the rest of the team were waiting. They had been dormant long enough.

“Well, this is it.” Dave was on a lookout platform in back of what used to be a general store. He pulled the electrical switch, lifting the gate that protected the abandoned town of Liar’s Berg. He waited for Hotch, Morgan, Emily, and Spencer to walk down the hill beyond it before he shouldered his small suitcase and followed them, Sawbar at his side. Jenna waited for him, and the two walked side-by-side. He cast a melancholy gaze at the small town receding in the distance.

“That town used to have a spectacular amount of hustle and/or bustle before its denizens fled to Sanctuary to escape Jack’s army. Most of them, anyway. Captain Flynt’s men killed anyone who stayed. I just got ‘lucky’ as they claimed. After you assholes showed up and started slaughtering bandits, I wasn't sure what kind of hope I’d have left. Doubt was actually starting to get to me. But that ends today! We’re gonna take him out, steal my ship back, and sail to Sanctuary.”  
As the six of them marched together towards the bottom of the hill, Jenna took her place overlooking the camp. Nodding to Reid, she let her wings spread out and loaded incendiary bullets. Dave gasped and let out a rasped _“HOLY SHIT”_ at the size of the unfurled wings, and Hotch steadied his shield. Reid charged down the hill to the mouth the camp, and hollered as he summoned Deathtrap.

“Klaatu Barada Nikto!” The robot roared to life, and Hotch threw his shield, giving Reid cover while Jenna grinned.

_“What the fuck-”_

“That was the signal. Time to light it up.” Jenna waited for the robot to whittle down the six bandits before hitting each of them between the eyes with a steady _CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK_. They burst into flames as the critical shots hit true.

“Clear!” Searching the bodies for ammo and cash, they ran through the small camp. Minus some fish roasting and poorly-made guns, there wasn't much to see. A voice came over the Echonet, and Aaron Hotchner gritted his teeth.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, Hotchner. My first mate Boom Bewm is gonna kill ya, Jack’s gonna pay us, and I’m gonna play hopscotch in your chest cavity!” Dave rolled his eyes and made lewd gestures at the radio, while the others tried to ignore Flynt’s graphic threat.

“Keep going!” Hotch ran forward while Reid called back the bot. Running down a ramp and climbing a short ice ledge, they were at the larger of the two small camps. Jenna ducked behind the charred remains of an old train car and took aim while Morgan crouched to count bandits.

“Remember, after we get through these guys, we have to jump down that ‘chute’. There's no turning back. That cannon is going to be ready for us, and we’ll be in the heat of things. Stick to the plan. Reid, hang back until we clear this area- we need Deathtrap to be ready for that jump. Morgan, JJ, Prentiss, this is all you.” 

Morgan sprinted forward into the center of the camp and dropped the turret, which began chewing up bandits steadily. He blasted two bandits with his Scorpio while Jenna picked off a few with her rifle. Emma's wings flew open and stretched wide as acid clouds burned to flesh of the angry bandits, and she threw one in the air with her Phaselock ability. As the airborne bandit screamed as he fell, Dave let off a few shots with his Sawbar, the rounds burning and tearing into their victim. Hotch and Reid raised their eyebrows, but Dave shot a scowl of his own back. This continued for a few minutes until silence filled the air.

“Can’t let you assholes have all the fun, now.” Hotch rolled his eyes, but Dave was more interested in the fact Emily Prentiss had turned her head and seen him. She smiled and turned back to the makeshift bridge of scrap metal that would take them to the drop. It was only a second, but Dave was going to cling to that second. _I can’t take my eyes off you, but someday you’ll keep your eyes on me too, Emma._

Jenna swapped her Lyuda for the Moloko, murmuring affections to the glistening rifle as the rest of the team reloaded their guns and Spencer led them forward. The camp was sparse. Standing on the bridge to the downward drop, there was no good vantage point. Hotch had been right, the “chute” was their only entry. To the left was open water, to the right, a glacier wall with no advantages. A few levels of poorly constructed ramps and stairs led them to more ammo crates and barrels of rations, but Jenna scowled as she came down from the highest platform. They were crude and wobbly, and she knew the plan was their only hope. Her thoughts were broken over the sound of Handsome Jack coming across the Echonet.

“Hey! How -- ah, these pretzels suck… So, how’s your day been, buddies? We haven’t really talked much since I left you all for dead. Hey, you think you’ll freeze to death out there? Nah, probably not. The bandits’ll get you first. My day? It’s been pretty good. Just bought a pony made of diamonds, because I’m rich. So, you know. That’s cool.” Dave gripped Hotch’s shoulder and leaned into his ear.

“Hotch, be careful. They're from the Ripper Clan. As in ‘Flesh Ripper.’ I don't need to tell you how they got that name.” He narrowed his eyes and went to step back, but instead gripped the man tighter and hissed.

“It’s because they _rip people's flesh off, Aaron_.” Hotch tensed, but shrugged Dave's hand off him.

“We don't have time for this, guys. Let's end this. Reid, lead the way.” Spencer nodded grimly, and took a leap down the drop, Hotch only a second behind him.  
When Reid struck ground he touched his arm, summoning Deathtrap. The bot roared to life and charged at Bewm, a dwarf sized bandit covered in spiked armor with a yellow jumpsuit. A few shotgun blasts from Hotch knocked the little bandit down. Grenades flew, and Reid let out his claws, tearing into bandits and drawing them away from the cannon. Hotch covered his back and the two beat marauders left and right, taking damage and getting sliced and shot themselves. Hotch's corrosive shotgun tore into Boom, the larger of the two brothers. He struggled to balance working in tandem with Reid without leaving blind spots while fighting the first mate and the bandits swarming. Shotgun blasts to the arms had the badass reeling enough to buy them time on grenade attacks, at least. He heard rather than saw Emily and Morgan run behind scrap metal piles within good range of the cannon, and felt a rush of air as dozens of cawing crows dispersed, pecking at the bandits in a swarm and trying to keep the attention of the bandits manning the cannon. Distraction in place, Jenna leapt down the "chute," leaving Dave at the top of the drop looking down at her mouthing _good luck_ and listening to the screams and gunfire beyond his sight. He quietly uttered a prayer.

Jenna's wings had shot out as she Phasewalked, her body going invisible to the eyes of her comrades and her enemies. Her siren skill was something she rarely used; being a badass sheriff and marksman was more vital in Lynchwood. She ran, practically flew, to a safe spot behind what appeared to be a broken smokestack of a ship. Directly in front was the cannon. She shouldered the Moloko and took aim, but bullet spray had her ducking for cover and grabbing her shotgun.

“EMMA, MORGAN, I NEED HELP!” The two vaulters fled their post and ran to Jenna, Emily sending crows to further disrupt the marauders while Morgan's turret tore them up. She saw Reid and Hotch, bloody and ragged with exhaustion, Deathtrap down for the count. Aiming the silver sniper rifle and saying a short prayer, Jenna began the assault on the cannon. She let loose multiple clips, Hotch's katana finally killing Boom and a weak cheer coming from Emily and Spencer as the Ripper fell. Dave jumped down the chute himself and sprinted to where the others were, giving cover fire as Reid and Hotch ran wearily to join the others. His eyes found Emily at last, and the connection finally rang home in his mind that she was responsible for summoning the crows. He tried not to stare at her beautiful jet wings and flowing hair, but the scene left him breathless. Morgan was firing his Scorpio and Emma's acid clouds were helping weaken the cannon. Finally, Big Bertha shuddered and went still. The only sounds on the bloodstained remains of the Wreck of the Ice Sickle were from the fleeing crows. 

Panting and shaking, Jenna went to work healing Hotch while Emily took Reid. As the wounds faded and healed, Dave cleaned and inspected Spencer's arm. 

“Looks good, kid. Good job giving them hell.” Spencer smiled weakly. He was worn out, and he could tell Hotch was as well. They had taken out close to twenty bandits themselves between grenades, melee, guns, Deathtrap, and the Aspis. Hotch moaned as Jenna finished healing him. Emily had healed Morgan’s minor cuts, and the two had begun searching the bandits’ corpses. 

“I count 35 bandits here. Good job, everyone.” Jenna swore loudly as the Echonet lit up again with Handsome Jack’s voice.

I’m rackin’ my brain trying to think of a name for that diamond pony I bought. I was gonna call it ‘piss-for-brains’ in honor of you, but that just feels immature. Maybe… ‘Butt Stallion’? Nah, that’s even worse. Tell ya what, I’ll give it some more thought.”

"I've never wanted to use my turret on a radio before, not even when I was in the military." Morgan pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. "This guy is getting off on tormenting us, I swear." Reid nodded grimly. The rest of the teams staggered to their feet, making their way through the camp until the came to what was left of Big Bertha.

To the right of the cannon's wreckage was a narrow pathway framed with warped steel beams and barbed wire, dark and striking against the cold blue of the ice walls. As the Southern Shelf’s topography began to change and the natural ice walls began to lower, a chorus of hushed gasps began to come forth. It was getting dark, and the sight before them was unreal. 

Directly before them was a tremendous bandit camp. Dozens of small shelters littered the cliff’s edge and curved out of sight. High above, embedded in a glacier, was a great ship of obsidian and crimson. The sails were outstretched into the shape of wings; the beams and masts spiked and jagged. Red sails, torn intentionally and otherwise, fluttered in the breeze. Towering over the ship was a heavily modified smokestack in the form of a dragon’s head, and every five minutes a course of flame poured from the top of its great jaws. Steel beams had been sharpened into fangs and spikes, giving the entire display a particularly fearsome appearance in the night sky. The moonlight of Elpis shone off the steel and the coarsely chopping midnight blue waves below. Hotch had hoped to take on the bandits that night, but after their fight against cannon-firing bandits and rippers, he changed his mind.

Flynt wasn't their normal bandit. He had a bird's-eye view of the entire shore and Southern Shelf. That was the only downside to storming The Soaring Dragon - Flynt could see them from a mile away. Bandits weren't snipers, but the team was at a strong disadvantage. They would need to rest for at least a day. A beep crossed the radio once more.

“I should probably clarify -- the diamond horse I’ve been telling you about? It’s not a sculpture, or anything. It’s a living horse that actually happens to be made of -- actually, I’ll just go get her, Butt Stallion! Say hello.” A horse whinnied in the background. “Butt Stallion says hello.”

***

Spencer found his team leader sitting on top of an empty ammo chest, stoking the fire outside the abandoned bandit hut they had claimed as their own. Hotch’s back was to him, and the older man was staring off into the night, a pensive look on his face. His fingertips traced the red Omega symbol on his Aspis, and he seemed almost in a trance. Reid smiled inwardly. It was an expression he’d been guilty of wearing when he was over thinking, or calculating something intense. Carefully, he coughed softly, and Hotch stiffened, turning his head so he could see Reid over his left shoulder.

“How long have you been there?” The tone was neither overly harsh nor welcoming. Reid shifted uneasily at the nonverbal signs as well. He had channeled all of his confidence to approach his team leader, but the chill in the air wasn’t just from the Southern Shelf.

“Not very long. I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I have a feeling I’d be eating a shield if I had.” Reid forced a small smile, but Hotch’s head turned away. “Something is bothering you. I think a few of us have noticed but were too polite to ask. What's wrong?” He was met with silence. “I know that I can be a little awkward, but if you need someone to talk to, you can talk to me. When you’re ready. If you want.” 

He stood there in the silent night for a little longer before turning and going back into the hut. JJ and Derek were still sleeping in the far back, Emily along the left, and Dave _had_ been on the right next to where Hotch had placed his bag. Reid blinked in surprise for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. While he had gone out to speak to Hotch, Dave Rossi had sprawled on the floor where Reid’s bag had been, and the older man’s right arm was outstretched slightly towards the raven-haired woman’s back. His face seemed peaceful, and Emily didn’t seem to know or care how short a gap there was between them; she was snoring lightly and facing away from Dave and towards the doorway. Careful not to wake either of them, Reid kept his thoughts to himself and curled up quietly next to his bag, leaving plenty of space between himself and Hotch’s things. His mind tried to start whirring again, but thankfully the exhaustion from the day caught up to him, and he welcomed sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Captain Flynt's bringing the burn.
> 
> I wanted to have them storm The Soaring Dragon in the same chapter, but P3N310P3 had other plans.


	13. A Fight of Ice and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team storms Captain Flynt's ship, and Dave gets robbed.

When dawn came, they had stormed the Soaring Dragon.  Leading up to the ship itself were a mass of small bandit camps. The fencing and angles of the glacier had made it a slow ascent up and around through the camps, clearing out handfuls of bandits at a time. The worst part of getting to the stairs leading up to the Soaring Dragon had been Dave. Hotch had figured the older man would sit back at the hut and let the team clear the way of bandits and Flynt before he joined them. Instead, the older man had thrown nothing less than a temper tantrum at the _idea_ of hanging back. 

“The fuck is his problem now?”  Jenna was enjoying a Parliament smoke and was standing with the rest of the team several feet away, watching her boss chew out their tagalong. 

“Dad’s telling alcoholic grandpa that he can't go driving with the rest of the family because he can't see over the wheel, and no one wants him wrecking the car.”  Emily rolled her eyes and shouldered her shotgun. She had picked up how Dave was a little bit possessive around her, trying almost too hard to show his alpha male colors.  She had called him out on it the night before; his shooting the bandits while her siren powers were activated had made him a greater target, and she hadn't been pleased.  He had whined and moaned, but had seemed to relish having her talking to him one-on-one. Exasperated, she had finally just called it a night. 

It took almost fifteen minutes of glaring, blackmail, threats of bodily harm, and insults from Hotch before Dave had finally agreed to hang back until they had cleared the ship and set him an ‘all clear’ signal.

“ _...but this is BULLSHIT, Aaron!_ ”

*** 

The ledges of frozen waves and jagged peaks had given them more cover than they had realized.  To their left was the gorgeous coastline of the Southern Shelf: open water, clear sky, stunning natural beauty that each of them could appreciate, even in the scenario they were in.  They were practically under the ship, the rusted crimson bottom of the vessel embedded deep in the frozen glacier. 

“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever,” Spencer had murmured.  The wind blew plush, leisurely falling snowflakes down on them while the ship’s enormous, weathered anchor swung almost imperceptibly in the breeze. It was sobering- this mighty ship with its anchor down as far as it could go, but held captive by glaciers instead.  Nature had thumbed its nose at Captain Flynt.  Pink, melon, sherbet and violet hues painted the sky before them, and even Hotch’s serious face had sported a look of deep awe when the sunrise had come full swing. In the face of a violence-tinged morning, the backdrop was breathtaking, and the obsidian waters sparkling below the canvas painted before them only helped frame the beauty. Directly below the ship was a gate, similar in structure the ones at Liar’s Berg.  Iron and steel bars hung over it in a lopsided pattern, allowing bandits to walk across the top.  Jenna had taken cover behind a jagged ice chunk while the others had charge the gate, guns drawn and eyes alert.  As the gate lifted and the bandits began yelling their own battle cries, Jenna sniped the two lookouts on either side of the gate’s controls. 

“Door's wide open, give ‘em Hell.”  They did. 

* 

She stayed several feet behind, sniping as she could and hurling homing grenades.  Morgan and Emily took front and center, using their shotguns and ARs to chew up the five or six bandits rushing them.  It was a short fight to breach the entrance, but soon they were making their way up the slow incline of the camps.  Inside, it was clear just how long Flynt had held control.  Unlike the camps near Liar’s Berg, these ones were actual huts with electricity and reasonably decent sized living quarters.  Two or three of the shelters were actual houses with windows, ample personal belongings, and assorted décor.   Past the first nine shelters was a steel mid-gate, complete with defensive spikes warning intruders to “piss off.”  Weapons reloaded and Death Trap summoned, they continued forward.  Reid’s robot and Morgan's turret cleaned up the next few bandits, none of which were particularly challenging. As they fell, Emily and Hotch searched the five shelters for ammo and cash. Regrouping, they continued forward, following the curved path leading them closer to Flynt. The path was a long spiral, bringing them around the center of the glacier wall.  On their left, curved metal beams herded them away from the exposed cliff edge.  Winding along, a wooden gate met them with more painted graffiti threats warning them to turn around.  Further ahead was a metal cross staked into the ice.  A torched technical tire hung off its center.  The Soaring Dragon’s flag- faded indigo with a black dragon-headed anchor- hung and fluttered in the breeze.  Regrouped and ready, they ran forward, Death Trap easily slicing up the bandits and electrocuting them.  Hotch used his shield to finish them off.  With one throw, the Aspis could ricochet off up to four bandits.  The shelters were larger now, decorated with fish bones and corpse furniture.  Emily shuddered.  Following the fence on their right, a final wooden gate frame was wrapped in barbed wire, the words “eat it” scrawled poorly on a plank.  More fish bones, primarily giant ribs, made fearsome spikes doubling as décor and deterrents. 

“You know,” she muttered to Hotch, “they really know how to make a place look welcome, don’t they?” Ahead, they could see the campfires blazing.  The spiraled path up the glacier had finally plateaued, and to their left was a set of steel steps leading up the Soaring Dragon.  From where they stood, they could see one of the Dragon’s wings fluttering against the sky.  Rusted, spiked metal gave the wings a more terrifying appearance.  Only four bandit homes, the best looking ones they had seen yet, stood between them and the ship.   

“Okay, this is it.  Move, move, move!”  Hotch rallied them with his katana in the air, and provided backup as they rushed forward.  Emily’s wings shot out as she let loose acid clouds over the area, and her SMG tore up the last few bandits.  Jenna’s wings were out as well, and her Phoenix ability was fully activated.  Each bullet she let fly from her Heartbreaker did extra incendiary damage.  A calm went over them for only a moment as the bandits’ corpses were strewn before them, a mess of red flames and green acid on the pure snow.  Reloading once more and adjusting their weapons, the four vault hunters turned to Hotch.  Their faces were grim; the tension palpable with the ship’s stairs behind them. 

“We stick together on this one.  Reid, do not summon Death Trap until my command.  Morgan, same with your turret.  I’m counting six bandits on the lower lever here, and over there.  JJ, Prentiss, use your guns and siren powers.  No one goes up the ramp to the second floor until we all do as a team.  Morgan, lead us aboard.”  The dark man nodded, switching from his Scorpion to a small SMG.  It was a silver, charcoal, and black camouflage Dahl Fox.  Derek had never been particularly fond of pistols or SMGs, but he knew the lighter gun would allow him better coverage when exposed and vulnerable as they were.  Jenna and Emily came behind him, side by side, with Reid and Hotch brought up the rear.   

The ship had been taken apart and rebuilt over time by the bandits.  Several places showed manmade wear and tear where they had pillaged metal and wood to be used in other locations for reinforcement.  Because of this, the first level of the ship was primarily abandoned.  A broken delivery cart was deposited near a foul restroom that the bandits had crudely labeled the “dook hut”, and it was all Morgan could do not to vomit at the rancid odor and sight as they passed it.  His eyes watered, and he wished his nostrils didn’t exist.  Climbing on top of the cart, he saw all four bandits in easy range, and signaled to Hotch. 

“Morgan, now, your turret!”  Dropping the turret in front of him, Morgan let it give him cover fire while the he began firing the Fox and Jenna let loose her homing grenades.  Acid clouds appeared courtesy of Emily,  and the four bandits collapsed quickly.   

“Go!  Now!”  Recalling his turret and running forward, Morgan jumped down from the cart and ran forward up a ramp, making his way to the second level.  
“Morgan, what do you see?”  An answer came in the form of bandit AR fire, causing the team to crouch down in cover.  Metal beams and supports provided limited shelter, but restricted Morgan’s ability to gauge the enemy’s numbers.  His turret was still recharging before he could digistruct it again.  A cry of frustration came from the man, and Reid shot an imploring gaze at Hotch. 

“I can’t get a clear read on how many there are.  I need cover fire for visibility!”  Morgan’s eyes were clamped shut as he cursed _no no no not like this_ ; he turned himself to try to reload the Fox, but the AR fire sprayed near him again and again, keeping him frustrated and pinned.  The turret’s recharge was still at only 60%.  A bullet struck his shoulder and the man cried out, his curses no longer in his mind.  Hotch met Reid’s eyes and nodded.  

“Reid, use Death Trap.  Everyone else, use homing grenades.  NOW!”  Before the words had finished leaving his lips, Reid had tapped his arm and summoned Death Trap, the robot roaring to life and boldly attacking the bandits.  A volley of grenades flew out as well, and the robot used its laser eye to set the nearest bandit on fire.  The man screamed and threw down his AR, moving his arms in a windmill fashion and backing up rapidly.  Unfortunately for the bandit, being on fire took precedence over watching his footing, and Reid smirked as the man backed himself over the edge of the second level, his screams rapidly fading before ending altogether.  Death Trap now used its claws to rip apart the bandits weakened by the grenades, and soon it was silent.   

“Guys, it’s clear!”  Reid had been keeping cover behind another support beam, and motioned for the others to come up the ramp.  Emily healed Morgan’s shoulder, and they had begun to come out from behind the beams when they stopped in their tracks in horror.  A side room, probably what had once been the captain’s cabin, burst open and five angry bandits ran out, shotguns drawn and threats flying. 

“We’ve got a live one!” 

“Come meet your maker!” 

“AHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!” 

“Time to die, little ones!”  Reid began to frantically back up, hollering warnings to the others. 

“There's more behind that side room!  MORGAN!  HOTCH!” 

“MORGAN!”  The turret was recharged, and in seconds he had it deployed. “Chew ‘em up, honeybear!”  Death Trap’s health was fading, but the robot took out two more of the bandits before Reid recalled it to recharge.  As Morgan and Reid used their SMG fire, Jenna ran to the right and drew the Heartbreaker, her wings out and the incendiary bonus damage burning the bandits en mass.  Acid rained down, and Emma used Phaselock to grab the healthiest bandit and hurl his screaming form into the air before unceremoniously dropping him.  Hotch hung back, using his shotgun as backup, but due to the way the team was spread out he didn't want to hinder them by being in their way.  After the turret was recalled and Emily had thrown around a few more flaming bandits, they nervously made their way forward towards some ammo crates and cash boxes.   

“Well, that was fun.”  Emily reloaded her shotgun and AR, hands and wings shaking. 

“Bit too close for my tastes, but at least we’re alive.  Thanks for the healing.”  She smiled and nodded back at Morgan.  She eyed what lay ahead of them uneasily.   

“Hey Hotch, check out the ramp.”  The right side of the ship was exposed, which had been initially in their favor to gauge the enemy numbers on the first floor.  Now that they were trying to get up to the third, the exposed drop was more than a bit nauseating.  Unlike the stairs that had led onto the ship, and the ramp up to the second level, the third level was connected with a ramp that was clearly a last-ditch deterrent.  Several panels were missing from the ramp’s base, leaving a six-foot long metal bar as their only connector to the rest of the completed ramp leading upwards to what they could assume was Captain Flynt himself.   

“If you lose your balance crossing that beam, you’re falling down to the first floor... and probably not getting back up.  Don’t trip, for the love of god.”  Morgan gulped, and Reid was clearly scared.   

“Everyone, careful.  It's a long way down.  One foot in front of the other.”  Hotch went first, cautious but confident.  He went up a few more ramp panels, ensuring the others would have room when they crossed.   

“Morgan, Reid, you two come next.  Worst case, JJ and Prentiss can fly across.”  Morgan motioned for Reid to go ahead, but the young man shook his head, insisting the other man went first.  Taking a deep breath and then exhaling, Morgan centered himself and strode across the beam, barely breathing.  Reaching the other side, he squeezed Hotch’s armored elbow.  

“Good job, Morgan.”  Hotch’s voice was soft, avoiding the trembling man’s eyes.  He turned and sent a kind gaze to Reid.  “Your turn, Reid.  Stay focused, and remember, just one foot in front of the other.”  Taking several shaky breaths and trying to loosen up, Reid walked to the edge.  His eyes ran over the slim bar, and he felt fear pool in his stomach.  He backed up, turned around, took, several more terrified breaths, and then turned around and made quick strides to the bar.  His feet moved on their own accord, taking him across.  His eyes met Hotch’s and he sent the man a satisfied smile. _I’ve done it!  I’ve--_

Hotch watched in horror as the young man’s left foot stepped forward onto thin air, his right foot still on the beam.  Only inches from safety of the first solid ramp panel, Reid tipped forward, his face contorting in surprise and then pure fear.  His left arm shot out, long fingers stretching to grasp the edge of the panel, but he was short.  As his fingers clawed out futilely, Hotch seized Spencer's wrist, grasping him tightly.  Jenna was behind Reid in a second, mighty wings out, flapping frantically as she tried to pull him up.  Morgan clutched Hotch’s waist and Emily flew behind Morgan, gripping him tight and helping anchor the two men.  After what they all would later catalog as the longest second of scrambling, Hotch’s left hand grasped Reid’s shoulder and underarm, and they hauled the young man forwards, his body shaking and tears of terror rolling down his face.  He was panting hard, and Jenna flew up behind Emily, tears in her eyes as well.  Hotch and Morgan sat close to Reid, rubbing his back and speaking softly to him until he had calmed.  Shaking a little less violently than before and dry-eyed, he looked around at the two men and two women surrounding him. 

“You saved my life.  Thank you.  I… I’m sorry I--” 

“If you even TRY to apologize for us caring enough to not let you die, I will slap the bitch out of you.”  Jenna’s glare was firm, and Reid’s mouth hung open for only a second before he burst out laughing, and the others laughed with him.  Her eyes lightened and she exhaled slowly. “But seriously, never taking you rock climbing, kid.”  Hotch let them let off some tension before leading them up the ramp.  Between bandits, Reid nearly dying, and the conversation with Jenna Jareau he really did not want to have, he was tense around his shoulders.  As he opened his mouth to ask the others to give he & the blonde some space, a bellow from far below them had him stopping in his tracks.  The rest of the team froze as a familiar, angry voice could be heard. 

“HEY!  YOU ASSHOLES FOUND THE LIFT CONTROLS YET?” 

“...Dave?”  Jenna peered over the edge and looked back at Hotch, confusion on her face. 

“DAVE?”  The man scowled up at them from the stairs of the Soaring Dragon, suitcases in hand and a cigar in his mouth.  His eyes blazed with irritation.  Hotch knew he shouldn’t be surprised, but he had clung to the hope that David Rossi would just do what he asked.  Of course, Dave wasn’t a vault hunter, so he was under no obligation to respect the team’s leader.  He shook his head.   _This is just getting worse._

“Oh my god, he just doesn’t fucking listen.”  Emily rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes, letting out a lengthy groan that had Morgan and Reid smirking at each other.  


“SO HELP ME, AARON, I AM NOT CLIMBING THESE DAMN STAIRS.  THEY COULD COLLAPSE AND THEN I MIGHT NEED SURGERY AND I AM NOT GOING TO DEAL WITH THOSE INSURANCE COMPANIES, THEY CHARGE TOO MUCH AND THEY’RE A BATCH OF GODDAMN BLOOD SUCKERS.  TURN ON THE GODDAMN LIFT!”  While Dave had been yelling at them from several feet below, Reid had gone further up the ramp to where it had leveled off.  True to the angry man’s word, there was a level and a lift.  Pulling the level, the system beeped and the platform slowly made its way down.  Once Dave had boarded it, Reid pulled it again.  A few minutes later, Dave Rossi was standing with them on the ramp, loading ammo into his Sawbar and looking over the rest of the team.  His eyes searched each of them for signs of injury, but they lingered a little longer on Emily.  Satisfied she was okay, he met Aaron’s icy gaze. 

“I told you to stay put.” 

“I didn’t listen.  You’re really that surprised?” 

“You could have been killed.”

“No, I couldn’t have, because your team did their job, which I knew they would.  And oh, look, here I am.  Alive against your self-imposed odds.”  Dave wanted to continue, but Reid spoke up. 

“There were dozens of bandits.  You’re lucky to be alive.”  Dave’s jaw snapped shut, and the irritation in his eyes almost softened at the young man’s words.  He wanted to tell the kid he was glad to see he wasn’t dead as well, but decided against it. 

“I’m not lucky.”  Morgan and Jenna rolled their eyes at each other.  Dave shot them a frown.  Lucky as a black skag crossing someone’s path. 

“Glad you made it in one piece.  Next time, make sure to wait for us.”  Dave’s head nearly spun around so hard his neck hurt at the sound of Emily’s voice, and he stuttered for a second before finding his words. 

“Uh.  Y-y-yeah.”  He felt his face turning red, and spun back to Hotch, who was looking between the two of them.  His eyes darkened when they settled on Dave, and he turned to continue up the ramp. 

“We’re almost to the top, it seems.  Let’s go.  Dave, keep up.”  The older man growled at the jab, and the others chuckled behind him.  The ramp ended shortly, bringing them to a small area.  There was barely enough room for all of them in the space, and they raided what was left in assorted ammo crates.  An ammo vending machine took up most of the small room.  As the team began to reload their weapons and take stock of their grenades, Hotch decided the time had come for the unpleasant talk.   “JJ, over here, please.”  The blonde frowned, but followed Hotch away from the eyes of the team and onto the ramp.  Hotch wasn’t glaring at her, but it was obvious he wasn’t about to give her good news.  She braced herself and met his gaze, nodding.   

“Out with it, then.”  He sighed, and nodded. 

“JJ, your siren powers amplify incendiary damage.  Your shotgun does incendiary damage.  Based on what we’ve seen of the Soaring Dragon and Captain Flynt’s insignia, it’s safe to guess he’s going to be dealing incendiary damage himself.  I need you to stay up here in this space, away from the ship’s bow.  The rest of us will make our way out to Flynt, but I can’t have us fighting fire with fire.  It won’t do us any good.”  Jenna averted her gaze.  She was hurt, but she understood where her leader was coming from.  She held her Jakobs pistol and frowned.  Even if she shot at Flynt with a plain weapon like it, the bullets would deal fire damage due to the nature of her skills.  She withdrew her wings, and met Hotch’s eyes again. 

“I understand, sir.  I’ll stay behind and throw the homing grenades.”  They nodded in understanding, and went back up the ramp to the small area leading onto the ship’s bow.  Jenna gathered the stockpile of grenades and moved them back.  Emily shot her a questioning look, but she looked away when Hotch spoke again. 

“I’ll lead us out onto the bow.  I’m assuming a few bandits will be there, but based on the number of shelters the camps had and the number of bandits we’ve dropped, I don’t think there will be many.  Our primary objective is Captain Flynt- once he is down, his bandits will likely just surrender.  Jenna is staying here as our backup.  Dave, you can stay with her or you can try to take cover on the deck, but if you choose to follow us out then be aware that we cannot always be covering you.”  Dave nodded, and stood next to Spencer, who smiled at his friend.  Hotch looked at each of the people in front of him and took a deep breath.  “Good luck, all of you.”  They nodded; blue, brown, and hazel eyes filled with trust and admiration met his own.  Nodding, Hotch jumped down off the short edge of the little room and onto the deck, marching forward with the sounds of his team behind him. 

True to Hotch’s guess, only four bandits remained.  The deck was mostly clear, with few areas of cover.  A broken cargo cart rested to the left of them, about halfway down the deck.  Emily took cover behind it, pulling out her shotgun.  The AR dealt incendiary damage, and she knew that as much as a shotgun was not the weapon she would prefer to take on someone of Flynt’s caliber, her siren powers would be her primary weapon.  She wasn’t entirely surprised to find Dave hunkered to her right, his eyes constantly shifting from watching her to scanning the deck before them.  She wanted to be irritated, but truth be told if she was in his shoes, she’d probably pick sticking with a siren for cover as well.  Her wings were still out, and a neon green cloud began to cumulate over the deck.  She looked over at Dave and forced a small smile. 

“Stay behind me, and don’t move unless you absolutely have to.  When I have someone in my Phaselock bubble, bandit or Flynt, shoot them.  Otherwise, save your ammo for if you truly need it.”  Dave nodded, gripping the Sawbar tightly.  She saw his shoulder shake, and she stretched her dark wings a little wider, hoping to offer some comfort. 

“I’m sorry I bitched about your crows, Emma.”  His voice sounded thick.  She didn’t turn away from her gaze on the deck before her. 

“Crows aren’t exactly a box of kittens.  I get it.”  She closed her eyes and sent a hopeful transmission.  “They are quite smart, though.”  As Dave silently struggled, she kept her eyes on Hotch. The gladiator had walked almost to the very front of the deck.  High above them, on a seat crafted of gold-painted scrap metal sat Captain Flynt.  He wore a brass helmet with twin horns coming off of it, his eyes barely visible through the slim visor.  In his upraised hand was a fearsome blacksmithing hammer, modified to look more like a cross between an anchor and an axe.  The ends were curved, blunt, and Hotch knew that a strike from the weapon would knock a man, with or without armor, to his knees.  A second blow would kill him.   

“TIME TO TURN UP THE HEAT!”  Hotch braced himself, and the bandit king leapt down from his throne, weapon swinging.  Hotch leaped backwards twice, dodging the Captain’s melee attacks.  He heard Reid summon Death Trap and Morgan drop his turret.  Taut and ready to attack, Hotch took aim and threw his shield.  It bounced off Flynt, doing damage, but not enough.  Flynt’s armor kept him safe, and Hotch launched several more volleys, rolling and dodging as the blacksmithing weapon crashed down on either side of him repeatedly.  Soon, Hotch was panting and wondering just how long he could keep up.  In the background, he could hear the screams of the remaining bandits getting thrown around by Prentiss’ Phaselock and Dave’s supportive gunfire.  Homing grenades whizzed by, helping give the other four cover. Morgan and Spencer were focusing on gunfire themselves, trying to weaken Flynt so that Aaron could bring him down.  Hotch made sure his positions weren’t putting him in danger of their shots, but Flynt was calmly driving him further back down the deck.  He knew if he didn’t end it soon, the bandit would be within range to deal killing blows to his team.  Desperately, he rolled again and tried to redirect Flynt’s attention to the opposite direction, but Flynt wasn’t buying it.   

“I think it’s time I get the oven’s burning!”  Hotch watched in horror as vents across the deck began to shoot fire, making it borderline impossible for him to see his team, Flynt, or get very far himself.  The heat was unbearable, and Hotch felt sweat pouring out of him, his eyes watering from the smoke.  He knew he had to get back on the offensive, but Flynt struck him with a mighty blow of his iron gauntlet and Hotch went flying backwards, narrowly avoiding landing in flames.  Shaking and disoriented, he tried to rise, but as his eyes lifted, he saw the blunt of Flynt’s blacksmithing tool drawn back, moments away from coming swinging at his head.  He had no way to dodge, and closed his eyes. 

Reid had been watching the fight carefully down the barrel of his gun.  The second the flames had erupted he had sprinted across to Emma and Dave, whispered a plan to them, and run back through the smoke.  Climbing on top of the cart, Morgan had reset his turret, and Reid had summoned Death Trap with a fury-filled incantation.  The second the robot had apparated, Emma had shot it with corrosive bullets, and then all Hell broke loose. 

Aaron Hotchner had expected to feel Death come for him in a second, but instead had smelled the odor of corrosion and saw a neon green robot drive its claws into Flynt’s legs while a whirling Spencer Reid drove his melee claws into the gap of the Flynt’s mask, knocking off the great horned helmet with a rage-filled scream that sounded more like an animal than a young man.  Flynt’s weapon was forgotten, dropped to the ground with a booming thud that had Hotch flinching.  The scream was echoed by hysterical ones from Flynt, who was now blind and swinging his weapon violently.  As Spencer taunted the fuming man, Aaron staggered to his feet and pulled his Hornet pistol from his boot holster, driving home lethal shots into Flynt’s shredded, crimson-streaming mess of a face.  The rapid-fire shotgun blasts from Morgan and Emma kept driving Flynt back further, until his spine pressed against the metal railing of the ship.  Rapidly approaching, they heard the frantic thumps of Jenna’s boots pounding across the bow to them, red shotgun in hand and rage in her eyes.  With a vicious snarl, Hotch launched himself forward and hurled his charged Aspis with unbridled rage.  Dave would later swear that even from several feet away behind Emma, he had clearly heard the sound of the facial and nasal bones caving into what had formerly been the face of the most feared bandit on the Southern Shelf.   

*** 

“Look, I’m telling you, you’re going to love her.  My ship is simply grand.  You assholes won't even know what to do with yourselves.”  Emma was amazed Dave hadn't blown a button off his shirt and given someone a black eye with it due to how much his chest had puffed up.

“Dave, what's the name of your boat, anyway?”  He looked indignant, and the pout elicited twin smirks from Morgan and Reid.   

“The ‘Liquor & Poker.’  My third wife left me over her.  I think she was upset I didn't name the ship after her, but naming a ship after a Krystall with a ‘K’ and two ‘L’s’ is just a bad mistake.  Much like our 72-hour marriage.”  The two men behind him had traded their smirks for full blown laughter and this point.  Dave shot them a glare, missing the wide grin Hotch cracked for only a second once his back was turned. 

“I don't know what's worse- you've been through three wives, or you named your ship something like that.”  

“Hey, women may fall out of love with me, but alcohol and a deck of cards have never let me down.”  Eyerolls and good-natured soft laughter floated about until Hotch motioned for them to quiet down. 

“You played Reid yet?”  Emily winked at Spencer, who caught her teasing wink and managed a small smile.  His smile faded as they approached the dock. There was no “grand” ship waiting for them.  There was a filthy, weathered brown ship that had Reid silently questioning how safely it could carry the six of them. 

“Dave..?”  Hotch frowned and shot a concerned look at his friend. Dave's face was scarlet, his eyes watering and his mouth sputtering. They all backed away to give him space. 

“Those bastards stole my ship!”  Dave stared in rage and disbelief at the iced harbor.  After several minutes of painful silence, Morgan spoke.   

“So, uh, I searched Captain Flynt’s corpse and found these.”  He held up a set of keys on a red carabineer.  “I assume they stole this boat from some unlucky bandits, but it's ours now.  Sorry about your ship, Dave.  I'm uh, I’m sure it was... nice.”  The older man was still fuming, but ran his hand over his goatee and shook his head. 

“At least we have a way out of here.  Let's board this…” he motioned to the ugly ship before them, “fine seaworthy vessel.  What's her name, anyway?” Emily looked at the stern and snorted, shaking her head and failing at holding back a few stray tears.  Jenna and Reid both fought to stay composed.  As Hotch spoke, even his voice cracked in betrayal and his eyes crinkled in humor. 

“All aboard the ‘Up The Coal Hole’, team.” Patting Dave's back, he watched as his team crossed onto the derelict of a ship while he tried to console his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graveyard shifts are hard to adjust to. That's all.


	14. Snowbound and Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team gets a vehicle, and Commander Sharp has a slight problem.

It wasn’t that bad, really, but it was starting to get old.

Aaron and Derek were used to the smell of body odor and the rough life of people in a team having to be in close quarters. Jenna was adjusting relatively well. The little blonde was tough, but after their bloody fights and their camping conditions being less than ideal compared to roughing it in the dusty badlands she was used to, she was ready to be far away from ice and snow. It was beautiful, but if she never saw it again she wouldn’t cry. Spencer was also used to making do with what was available, but the temperature changes from Elpis to Pandora wasn’t entirely comfortable, and he hated being so filthy. Prentiss was fighting to keep a tough face, but more than the others, she craved a hot shower and a non-canned meal. Still, the body odor despite trying to stay clean as best as they could and the increasing exhaustion was beginning to take its toll. 

Dave had thankfully kept his bitching to a bare minimum, aware of the greater picture his rescuers/companions had before them. He was honestly still impressed Aaron Hotchner hadn’t been decapitated by Flynt. Prentiss had become a bit more friendly to him after the fight, albeit mostly due to the fatigue from fighting for their lives, and that was the best thing. He had admired her before, but she was just… every time Dave thought he knew all the reasons she amazed him and enamored him, she would do some other little thing. Most of them were unconscious little things: a small smile, a playing whumpf to his back with her wings, and the other night had even let him fall asleep resting back to back with her. Both of them, he’d heard Jenna tell Hotch, sounded “like two asthmatic skags gasping and groaning.” Hotch had actually let a laugh bubble up at that.

*

The boat was a piece of crap, but certainly not as bad as they’d expected when viewing it from the shore. While weathered and beaten, the little ragged vessel hadn’t sunk or sprung any leaks, surpassing all of their low expectations. Due to the slower pace it took versus what Dave’s loved ship could have hit (had it not been stolen), the journey over the sea was tranquil in some ways. They could sleep easier than they had on the Southern Shelf. The fish they’d been able to catch had been larger, and their hunger was less. The “Up The Coal Hole” had a reasonably secure deck, allowing the team to unwind and play a few rounds of cards while Dave had steered them safely. After only a couple days, they’d reached shore and thrown over the anchor.

“Oh look. More fucking snow.” Jenna scowled and looked over at Dave. “Where the Hell are we now?” He’d laughed and pointed at a bridge overhead.

“We’re knocking on Sanctuary’s door, Jenna. Welcome to Three Horns Divide, or Mainland Pandora. We go left, we get more ice. We go right, we go to the desert and the Dust, but that's a shit hole.”

“Near Lynchwood!”

“And the Highlands!” The two women smiled wide with faraway looks to their eyes, delighted to be closer to their homes. Dave coughed.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. If you like drowning in beer with the Irish or getting heat stroke in the desert. Anyway, if we take this turn, we get to Sanctuary. Easy peasy. We just have to get across that bridge,” motioning back skyward.

High above them was rough bridge about the length of two technicals. It wasn’t the least structurally sound thing they’d seen since coming together, but it wasn’t exactly well designed. Years of bandits and bloody warfare had taken their toll. Based on the details of the map, if they walked up the established path before them and then went left, they would be at the bridge, overlooking their current location. The bridge would take them through an ice tunnel and then out onto the Snowbound Crossroads, an intersection that would ultimately bring them safely to Sanctuary’s gates. 

As the team started forward with guns drawn and newfound hopefulness, a commotion had them looking skyward again. The sounds of bandit technicals’ engines revving loudly could be heard. A refurbished Dahl technical painted in arctic camo flew over the bridge at blinding speed. As the vehicle cleared it, the driver turned and launched a rocket behind, causing a fiery explosion to decimate their path to freedom. The team gaped in horror and cried out as debris flittered and poured down towards them while smoke filled the air. The driver's voice was loud on the Echonet.

“Sanctuary's off limits! You Bloodshots can stay in your hole.” Undeterred, a rusted technical full of bandits and splattered in dried gore jumped the gap. The team gasped at the sight, Emma shuddering and the hairs on their necks standing on end. Blood was smeared in an eye pattern on the doors of the vehicle, visible even from the distance. Another blip crossed the Echonet.

“I SEEEEE YOUUUUU!” The unmistakable jeering voices of a raging bandit rang out, followed by an exasperated sigh from the original Echonet voice:

“Awesome. Why don't you boys run on back to your camp?”

“Oh! Good idea! I think we'll just turn around and head on back to our -- _DIE!_ ” The sound of gunshots rang across the Echonet broadcast, and the team stared at their radios and each other.

“That was the Eye of Providence… over the course of history it represents the all-seeing eye of God and remains a reminder that man's thoughts and deeds are always observed by God. People will incorporate it as justification that what they do is being watched by God and therefore okay.” Spencer was bouncing from one foot to another, gripping his pistol tightly and looking at the others, determined. “We have to assume these guys think they’re invincible thanks to their god, that they don’t believe they’ll die.” Hotch nodded.

“It’s true. Knowing the symbolism helps, Reid. Thank you. We should be mindful of any other imagery or symbols they have up, it may help us get a sense of what’s in store for us. These bandits may have traps set for us, and I’d be amazed if they didn’t have sniping vantage points. We need to get to higher ground immediately so Prentiss’ birds and JJ’s eyes can cover us.”

“Agreed. Emma, you wanna send up some birds for a looksie?” Jenna frowned as the brunette shook her head.

“They need a rest from me. I can't take them for granted, and I got a lot of them killed the last few days. They'll come back, but they need time, JJ.” She adjusted her Vladof AR. “We’re low on ammo, too. Flynt’s armor was a bitch.”

“We need a car… light runner or preferably a technical. We can't just jump that gap.” Morgan frowned, scratching his beard.

“Hey, Chocolate Thunder. I can help with that. I only have a moment, but I didn’t forget about you guys. I saw you beat down Captain Flynt and you beat him, and you showed him- you showed him real good that no one messes with Team P3N310P3! And now, hey, you’re almost to Sanctuary, so go you! Pandora is a violent and dangerous place. Sanctuary is...slightly less so! You'll need a car to reach the city gate -- get to that Catch-A-Ride center at the top of the hill!” Hotch had shot a smirk at Morgan, who was scratching his head. 

“Team P3N310P3?”

“Just roll with it. I don’t like that she seems to see everything we do, but she has been helpful so far. We can ask more about her once we’re safer. Right, P3N310P3?” Aaron’s voice had turned into a hard warning at the end, and if he hadn’t known better, he’d have believed she had gulped.

“Yes, absolutely. I just can’t right now, my time is limited. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to leave you all wondering--” Hotch cut her off with a sigh.

“I- we get it, P3N310P3. Now, what was it about this Catch-A-Ride?”

“Sure, Hotchscotch. This machine will digitally construct a vehicle for you. Give it a try.” Dave punched in the access request, but a loud beep sounded and a pre-recorded, angry woman’s voice shrilled out of the system’s speakers, causing them to jump back.

“ _Whoa,_ unauthorized user _up in my grill!_ You trying to hack my Catch-A-Ride? Uncool, guys, uncool.” The disdain in the woman’s voice was clear, and Dave was reeling as though a girlfriend or ex-wife was sassing him.

“Damn it -- er, sorry. Darn it. A woman named Kate Callahan controls these Catch-A-Ride machines --she may be shorter than a fun-sized candy bar, but she's an absolute savant when it comes to vehicles. Like, she’s totally the _queen_ of digistructed vehicles, just like I’m the queen of the digital world. She's locked this station to prevent the silly bandits from using it, but I'm reading the coding and… I think I can hack the machine and get you a car. Hang on, my genius is at work.” Hotch huffed, but Morgan yelled up at the invisible voice.

“The queen? Who do you think you are, anyway? Hotch, who does this bit--”

“Executing Phase Shift.” The whole Catch-A-Ride system shook, making them jump yet again, Morgan nearly falling over, eyes wide.

“Re-scin-ding lock-down,” beeped a generic mechanical voice from the system. 

“Wait a moment while I make this Catch-A-Ride my digistructed bitch. I’m the queen, so this will just take a-- DONE! BOO YAH! That’s what I’m talking about! Oh, and you’re all welcome.” As Penelope’s voice cheered, the Catch-A-Ride lit up with its normal interface, a few small beeps as it finished loaded. At last, Kate Callahan’s voice came out.

“Authorized user accepted! Enjoy the ride and there's a Pimento Taco -- a Pimentaco -- in the glove box.”

“Hah! Sparkles and glitter, no AI is quicker! Try requesting another car, sweetness.”

Following the commands, the digital interface of the system asked Hotch if he wanted a light runner or a bandit technical. The runner was a small, two-seater of a vehicle that was quick but not as tall or as rugged as the technical. A bandit technical was the most common vehicle on Pandora. Stocky build, sturdy suspension, large tires. Dropping the tailgate, Spencer, Jenna, Morgan, and Emma climbed into the back. Dave called shotgun and shuffled up into it.

“Thanks for using Callahan's Catch-A-Ride, beeyotch!” Hotch fought an eye roll and heard Penelope groan.

“Ugh, she's a _real_ charmer, that one. Good girl, but a bit rougher than she looks. Good news though- you should now be able to digistruct a car from any Catch-A-Ride station. Now use that technical you summoned to jump that gap.” Hotch powered up the technical, drove it in a few short circles to get used to it, and then took off straight towards the blown bridge. Saying a silent prayer while Dave said one aloud, Hotch floored it and the car lurched over the gap, pieces of rusted scrap and snow flying behind it. A high-pitched squeal come over the Echo and Dave’s eyebrows nearly left his face. 

“Well, she’s certainly been programmed to be enthusiastic,” the older man muttered. “At least she seems to be on our side.” Hotch fought back a small smile. While he certainly had his questions like the rest of the team, the AI’s cheery personality was growing on him.

“Great! Now head to Sanctuary and find Commander Gina Sharp. She'll want to meet the vault hunters who stared down Handsome Jack and lived.” Hotch confirmed, then jerked the wheel left and drove the cobalt blue technical through a frozen path. Glacier walls towered over the speeding technical, and Hotch was reminded how small he was compared to nature. At last, the path narrowed and they emerged from the tunnel. The team had readied themselves in the back, eyes sharp on the lookout and their gear held tight. Sunlight was bright and warm, and snowflakes fluttered lazily down. The clear crystal sky was almost blinding. Going forward a few yards, Hotch drove onto a paved road, the first they’d seen. The grey serpentine track rolled behind them, leading back to the ramp. Ahead of them, it continued to swerve leisurely to the right at a wide angle. A lone Catch-A-Ride station sat to the northwest, tucked away. The paved road was thankfully flat, but towering mountains and assorted boulders littered the otherwise plain, wide open landscape. Reid yelled to Hotch over the sound of the technical's tires.

“Hey Hotch, what's that thing up ahead?” 

That thing, as he’d called it, turned out to be a broken telephone pole stuck in the ground. Wooden planks artfully painted at one now forgotten time declared this the location of the Oasis Motel. Red graffiti had crossed out the “motel” part. Two red metal arrows had been broken off the other signs from somewhere and heavily reinforced and nailed to the multiple support posts holding up the sign. Below the Oasis piece was a huge blue rectangle with the words “Sanctuary” written out in white script. Time and weather had faded and chipped the signs, but there was no doubt that the red arrows were directing them to follow the right hand fork to their destination. With a grateful cheer from the others, Hotch punched the gas and followed the winding road. The wind in his hair and safety approaching, he was starting to relax until he heard Handsome Jack buzz the Echo.

“Sometimes I envy you bandits - you're so... unburdened with things like intelligence, culture, morality, honor, ambition, good looks... I could go on but I won't. But I _could._ ” As the vehicle slowed and took a sharp turn, Hotch cursed at Jack’s voice. 

“Ah, _dignity!_ Almost forgot to mention dignity!” A horse whinnied in the background. “Easy Butt Stallion. Easy!”

Half a mile down the road had them pulled up to the fortified gate leading into Sanctuary. Hotch slipped out of the driver's seat and walked up to the lone intercom. Pushing the broad button, he stood tall and watched a small red light on the com turn green. _Please let this not have all been a waste of effort._

“ _You're never getting into Sanctuary, you Bloodshot skaglicks_ \-- oh, hold up. You're vault hunters. Ah… sorry about that. Just a sec, Commander Gina wanted to talk to you! Lemme ECHO her!” After some hushed noises, Hotch heard a woman’s voice. It was the voice of a woman who had seen the world around her change, but had remained resilient.”

“At ease, Lt. Davis! Ah, so _you're_ the ones I've been hearin’ all this radio chatter about. Name's Gina Sharp - used to be a vault hunter like you are, until I formed the Crimson Raiders. We'll catch up when I get back to Sanctuary - for now, I need your help. My men tell me Corporal Reiss hasn't returned the power core we need to keep the city's shields running. Jack's been hammering our city for days with his aerial mortar attacks and the power cores we have are running out rapidly. Bring Reiss back to Sanctuary, and you'll have earned your place in the Raiders. Thank you in advance for your help, Mr. Hotchner.”

“Pleased to meet you, Commander Sharp. Please just call me Hotch.”

“Commander Sharp or preferably Gina are both okay by me. I'm only formal with my fellow Crimson Lancemen. I’ve sent you the coordinates for the last transmission I had from Reiss. Please be careful.” Climbing back into the technical, Hotch heard P3N310P3 come back online to them via Echonet.

“Gina’s contacted you? Good. Listen to what she says - she can help us defeat Jack. I, uhm, I , I have to go, I’ll be in touch, I -- OH!” He frowned at the terrified cry the AI had uttered. Despite the team and Dave, he’d felt safer with her there. He’d be less passive about getting answers from her the next chance he got. Following the road back how they had come in, Hotch bristled as another familiar voice came over the Echonet.

“Handsome Jack here, reminding you all not to worry your pretty little heads about those earthquakes -- see, with every tremor, my drills get closer to the Vault -- to freedom, order, and safety for all of us. Except you asshats in Sanctuary.”

Next to the entrance of the ice tunnel, Morgan jumped out of the technical and dusted away some snow. Getting up off his hands and knees, he held up a small Echo recorder. Hotch pressed his radio near the speaker so Gina could hear it. The others huddled around Morgan as he hit the play button.

“Got the power core from the Bloodshots... blew the bridge... I'm hit... Gotta lose 'em in the Marrowfields --” The wailing cry from Reiss was haunting, and they exchanged uneasy glances, all of them tightening their grips on their guns.

“Reiss is in trouble? Dammit - we're spread thin enough as it is. Find him, Hotch.” Nodding at the device, Aaron remained thin lipped.

“Yes, Commander Sharp.” Dave motioned to the left, breaking into a run to the vehicle.

“Marrowfields aren't far. Just a few yards that way, down by that oil rig. Go!” Hotch parked where Dave instructed, and they ran through the snow as fast as their feet could carry them. He and Reid sprinted in tandem, the two in perfect rhythm with each other as they approach the sounds of a struggle.

“Goddamned Bloodshots, there's too many of 'em! If anyone can hear me, I need _help!_ ” A fence of giant fish skeletons and scattered bullymong ribs prevented them from an easy climb to where they saw three bandits kicking and punching a huddled form. They maneuvered through the bones, then hit a breakneck speed towards the crumpled Corporal, who lay moaning as Hotch and Jenna fired their Hyperion shotguns in tandem, killing the bandits. The bandits’ attire were the usual blue jeans and navy sweatshirts with blood spatter, but true to Reid’s words, the Eye of Providence was painted on all of them. Reid growled.

“Bloodshots,” Dave muttered. The weakened soldier at their feet moaned and turned his head towards Hotch, his breathing ragged and harsh.

“ _Vault hunters?_ Didn't think I rated _that_ much of a rescue. One of those psychotic bastards ran off with the power core so I had to fight him for it back. It's tucked in my jacket. Without it, Sanctuary'd be defenseless. Get that core back to Sanctuary, please. I'm just... gonna take a nap.” He paused, his head tilting further to the side and a wet sigh leaving his bleeding lips. “Wake me up... when I'm not... on... Pandora... anymore.” Morgan rubbed his face and the others exchanged frustrated glances at each other. After dealing with someone like Flynt, they hadn’t imagined a simple rescue mission would have gone so sour. Hotch had kept the Echo on, and Gina came back on the line.

“Whoa, _WHAT?_ Reiss is _dead?_ He was one of the first Crimson Lancemen I recruited to the Raiders! Get that power core back to us here, please. And while you're at it, kill some bandits for Reiss if any get between you and our gate. It's what he would've wanted.” 

“Gina, we have the power core. It looks intact.” Spencer was critically examining it, then handed it over to Hotch.

“Great. Thank you, Mr. Reid. Jack won't destroy Sanctuary today, at least. Get back to our city. We'll meet up once I get there. I’m greatly looking forward to meeting this team of yours, Aaron Hotchner, and seeing you all safe. Welcome to the Crimson Raid-- Ah, _dammit._ I'm being attacked, I'll see--” The line went dead. Spencer frowned, and went to speak until the Echo beeped again.

“This is a message to Sanctuary _'the last stronghold of the resistance'._ Pandora as you knew it - the chaos, the bandits - that time has passed. If you let it, this _could_ be an era of order - of peace! Just turn yourselves in, and I promise: your deaths will be quick.” 

“I’m so sick of that prick,” Emma swore, and Dave and the others had muttered furious agreement. It hadn’t taken them long to get back into their technical. With Prentiss driving and the other clutching the sides of the vehicle with white knuckles and praying their lives wouldn’t end just yet, the gate to Sanctuary was soon in sight.

“Almost there, guys. We’ve got this. Oh, come on, not Jack again.” A groan and more snarls came from the team, Reid resting a hand on Hotch’s shoulder as he growled low with rage next to him. Dave pretended not to notice, his own hands both hanging on to the sides of the vehicle while Prentiss sped forward recklessly.

“You like my speech? I was lying about the last part, by the way. I'm gonna spend a long time torturing you bandit scum to death. And I'll enjoy it even more because - ah, I shouldn't say anymore. I've got a little secret that I, uh - you know what? You don't need to hear it - it'll probably just confuse ya. Ciao!” The technical came to a screeching halt, and Hotch lept out to punch the intercom button once more. As the light flashed, Lt. Davis spoke up, his voice rushed.

“Commander Sharp?! Is that you?! Oh, it's Hotchner and his team -- get in quick! Commander Gina's ECHO communicator went dead, we need your help!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long! Lots of new faces next chapter.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


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